Hard Candy
by KyinHI
Summary: What happens when a quick getaway to the Hamptons is interrupted by not one but two separate cases? Rated M for a reason folks. Started out as smut, accidentally found a plot. A big one. Oops! *complete*
1. Chapter 1

**I don't even want to own them anymore. Marlowe is doing just fine. **

* * *

"Castle, I am not packing a bathing suit. It's _October."_

Kate rolls her eyes and continues to toss clothes into the overnight bag that she's just hauled out from the back of her closet. Jeans, a turtleneck, a scarf. Layers.

"But, Kaaaaate," he whines.

"Castle, you've seen me naked. What's the appeal, anyway?"

He looks her up and down, slowly cataloging her figure as she huffs and puffs around the room in a pair of impossibly skinny jeans and wearing a lacy, blue bra on top.

"While naked is certainly my most favorite flavor of Beckett," he snags a belt loop on her way by and drags her between the vee of his thighs, "there is something incredibly sexy…"

He pops the button and licks his lips.

"And deliciously erotic…"

Kate bites the inside of her cheek to stop the smirk that she feels beginning to bloom across her face. She waits, wanting to know where he's going with this. She has a fairly good idea and though she's just gotten out of the shower, she's not opposed to needing another one.

His hands roam to her backside, his fingers squeezing and kneading into her flesh. "About watching you saunter around in such a small amount of fabric. The images that float through my head…" His voice trails off and he smiles, hooking his thumbs into the waistband. "Slowly peeling it…"

He struggles at this point. The jeans really are skinny and she feels a small pang of empathy for the man.

"Right off of your..."

She huffs a laugh as he struggles to draw the offending pants down and past her hips, keeping her legs taut to hinder him in his quest just a little longer.

"You were saying?" she queries, as he eyes her pants with what looks a little like suspicion and a lot like frustration. He gazes up at her from behind thick lashes and brushes his fingertips up her thighs.

"I was _thinking_," he spins her around so she's facing away from him and she feels his hands slide around her waist. One hand rests on her hip, while the other meanders slowly onward. A smooth trail down her belly and then lower still. Until his fingers are grazing at the matching blue lace of her panties. A finger slips in. And then two and three, until he is cupping her and she has forgotten why it was that she wanted to forestall this. "That you are a tease, Miss Beckett. Relax your legs or I will make you relax them."

"That doesn't exactly sound like a threat, Ricky."

He presses the pad of his index finger into her clit, slides his finger up and down until she is slick with moisture. Then, just as fast as he had begun, his hand is removed and all contact is lost.

"Or maybe I will just go wait in the car while you finish packing."

She spins around and shoves him back onto the bed. He grins and sucks a finger into his mouth. The finger she knows is covered in the evidence of her arousal and, god damn, but that is hot.

She clenches her thighs to still the quivering between her legs.

"The house isn't going to decorate itself you know. We really don't have the time." His eyes rake over her body. "Much as it pains me to say so."

She clenches her jaw to stop from hitting him.

He is way too cocky for his own good. He needs to be taught a lesson.

"You're right," she says, straightening up and turning toward the dresser. "We wouldn't want to keep everyone waiting."

His face falls for a second and she knows she has won this round. The self-satisfied smirk returns as he props himself up on his elbows and she wonders what she has gotten herself into. To her chagrin, he plays along and makes like he is seriously going to leave her to pack.

"Seriously, Castle?"

She hates that there is a whiney ring of panic to her voice. That he can turn her into such a needy and… for lack of a better word... wanton woman. She hates more that he _knows _it.

"Seriously," he nods, obviously pleased with himself. He rises from the bed and struts out of the room looking like the cat that ate the canary.

Oh, _fuck that._ Two can play at this game.

She removes the jeans and in place pulls on a long and flowy skirt. She rolls down her ruined panties and toes them off; she doesn't bother putting on a fresh pair. They'll only get in the way with what she has planned. A cashmere sweater completes the look. She could pass as a regular trophy wife, all warm tones and soft fabrics. Minimal makeup and bouncy curls complete the look.

He will pay for the brush off when she decides to reveal what's waiting below the Stepford wife facade.

Quickly, she throws a few more items into the suitcase and strolls into the living room where he is waiting, still looking smug and proud of himself.

"Let's go," she says without even throwing him a backwards glace.

"Coming," he says, his voiced laced with a little confusion.

If you're lucky, she thinks.

* * *

**Shout-out to Avi. For teaching me how to count. I hate her a little. **


	2. Chapter 2

It's quiet in his car as they make their way out of Manhattan. A little too quiet maybe, but Kate's okay with that. She knows his mind is whirring into gear. He's definitely wondering about the outfit. She's pretty sure he's wondering even more about the shut-out he experienced back at her apartment.

The Ferrari purrs as they navigate out of the city, the engine vibrating through the supple leather and thrumming as he steps on the gas. The car rides low and a little rough. It was made for race tracks, not city streets rutted and marred by potholes. Each bump is a jolt straight to her core, each deceleration a small moment of disappointment. Kate begins to wonder if it was such a good idea to play with him, she is wound tight and the stop and go traffic is doing nothing to calm her excited nerve endings. It's the middle of the week and mid-town is jammed.

The air conditioner blasts cool streams of air over her skin, raises goose bumps along her forearms. She almost wishes the top were off, she could use a little fresh air. Something to take the edge off.

God, she sounds like an addict. And maybe she is; he's damn near irresistible to her. Denying him for the sake of the tease was harder than she'd ever imagined it would be. And she's spent a lot of time imagining all the ways she could drive Castle crazy over the years. Since that very first case, four years ago. No wonder she's having issues controlling herself. She had been parched and he was her drink of choice. He slid down her throat, warm and silky smooth. Making her so wet…

Whoa, dial it back there Katie girl.

Sure, she's been guzzling at the font of Richard Castle for the last five months, and he has found more than a few ways to quench her thirst. But it's not enough. It's never enough.

The idea of putting the car's top back is ridiculous, of course. As she pointed out earlier, it's October. It's hovering in the mid-sixties outside, they would freeze the minute they hit the open road. So instead, she angles herself against the door and presses the side of her face against the window. The cool glass eases some of the heat that blazes its way to her cheeks.

She watches him out of the corner of her eye, bottom lip pressed firmly between her teeth. It used to be an unconscious habit, but now it brings forth the ghost of his own teeth against her mouth. The way he drags them through his front teeth and soothes with his lips. The heavy, swollen feeling, that lingers well after he's finished with her. She crosses her legs, uncrosses them. She repeats the action a few times before giving it up the pretense. She's kidding herself if she thinks she can hold out for long.

But she's definitely going to have a little fun with him in the meantime.

* * *

Stupid. So stupid. What was he _thinking_? Starting something and then not following though.

What man in his right mind would deny her? It's all fun and games until someone is left with pants too tight and the taste of Beckett on their lips.

Nobody else better have the taste of Beckett of their lips. She's his. He toes the accelerator pedal a little harder than necessary and delights in the feeling of power under his hands.

He's a cave man and he knows it. Doesn't matter though, she's his. But he is _hers_ too. He thinks that evens it out. She certainly didn't complain last night, when he growled his possession of her and left a sizable mark, the shape of his mouth, on the side of her breast.

"Yes," she'd panted.

Though she _did_ smack the crap out of him this morning when she saw it.

But then later, he caught her tracing it in the reflection of the bathroom mirror with her fingertips, a pleased smile on her lips. His heart had swelled at the sight and he had quietly left her to her thoughts.

It's those small moments that ease his still bruised ego. The way she looks at him when she thinks he's not looking. How she traces the lines on his forehead and brushes the hair off his brow when she thinks he's still sleeping. The way she chants in the throes of ecstasy.

_Yes, love, Castle, love, yes, you, Castle._

How she holds eye contact as she shatters around him.

A traffic light turns red and he gets lost in his head for a moment. The reason for this trip and how they got to this point.

She still hasn't said it properly. But neither has he. Not again. Not since that fateful day. Not since he'd broken his promise and she'd broken his heart. He'd promised always, and then he'd fled. She'd told him her wall was coming down, and then piled it back up faster than he could blink when her case came hurtling back into the picture.

They had made promises that morning, after the storm. Apologies, for losing sight, and misplacing faith. And they'd made grudging confessions. Of fear and panic, hurt and perceived slights. It had been gut-wrenching and it had been touch and go for a while. Large cracks had formed in their once unbreakable foundation and it had taken all these months to fully mortar it back together.

This weekend in the Hamptons had been his idea. He was ready to tell her again, and he was certain she was ready to reply in kind. But he also wanted a chance to have her full attention; without the interruptions of her work or his family. Which is why they were staying for the weekend and everyone else was under strict instructions to find their own way come Friday.

He senses it as she shifts in the seat beside him, notices that the light has changed green. He guns the engine with purpose as he pulls into the intersection. He's impatient. He's ready. They are ready.

He wants to do it right this time.

It was the truth both times he'd voiced his love, but it had also been ill-conceived. Desperate pleas while she lay dying, while she teetered on the edge of a black hole, didn't lend themselves to reciprocation.

So, he used Halloween as an excuse for the entire team to leave the city and to cajole Kate into accompanying him to his oasis on the coast. He knew she still harbored some ill feelings towards the place, after the fiasco that was the summer of Gina and Demming. He knew the absurd display of wealth would make her uncomfortable despite the fact that she and her family weren't hurting for money. There was money and then there was money, money. He had the latter and he owed a lot of it to her. He hoped the task of turning the place into a haunted house would emphasize the fun his wealth could bring and lessen the impact of the burdens it sometimes carried.

He hopes he can change her perception of the place he holds most sacred. The loft is his lair but the beach house is his escape.

Gates had been surprisingly easy to convince into letting the team have a few days off. He didn't even have to pull the 'mayor card'. The absurdly high closure rate they managed to achieve and the ridiculous hours they'd been pulling lately probably didn't hurt. He had pulled her aside, asked nicely and she had granted his wish. Just like that. He suspects that she might approve of their unique partnership. Off the record, of course.

He suspects Iron Gates might have a gooey center. He suspects she's been taken over by alien clones. He suspects he's losing his mind.

He blames the woman in the seat next to him.

Chancing a glance in her direction, he finds her chewing on a lip. Does she know how much that turns him on? The small smile playing about her mouth suggests that maybe she does.

Oh…

Maybe she's the one that's turned on.

Her face is flushed and she leans heavily against the door, as though placing distance between herself and him. Did the lack of accomplishment back at her apartment affect her just as much as it did him? It makes the next twenty minutes of gridlock a little more entertaining as he sneaks a few peeks in her direction. How she clenches her thighs and chews on the nail of her pinky finger, presses her face to the glass. How her chest heaves just a little faster than normal.

Kate Beckett is hot for Castle. Madeline was right. She wants to make little Caskett babies. Whoa, Rick. Down boy. Not likely. Not yet, anyway.

She's totally hot for him though.

Finally, the traffic clears and as he speeds onto the 495, he relaxes into his seat, let's his right hand stray to her thigh. It's a straight shot for at least the next hour.

He feels her muscles twitch as his fingertips graze the soft fabric of the billowy skirt. Not her usual look, but she's stunning as always. Softer, he thinks; until he catches a moment of eye contact and quirks an eyebrow in her direction. Her pupils are dark pools of arousal and she smiles, with just a hint of pink tongue trapped between white teeth. He diverts his eyes back to the road and she shifts again, closer to him now but facing her head away, out the window as though taking in the view. She cocks a leg up on the dash as though she's not at all interested in his company. Oh, but he's on to her.

The movement causes the skirt to pool high on her lap and the supple skin at her inner thigh calls to him like a siren song. He walks his fingers slowly toward the apex of her legs, desperate for an impression of flesh on flesh. As he nears his goal, she calmly catches his hand and places it on the console without a word.

They continue the game for a few exits. With each attempt, the skirt ride a little higher, until he knows the next time he will be able to see the dark blue lace of her panties. He twitches in anticipation and takes a moment to adjust. He doesn't miss the catch in her breath, so he does it again.

Not a word is spoken. It's all surreptitious glances and wordless mirth. He braces for the feel of rough lace against his fingertips, he instead feels slick velvet and damp heat.

"Beckett…?"

He grips the steering wheel hard, glad the road is straight and near deserted. He faces her and she turns toward him with a look of victory on her face, raises an eyebrow.

"Yes, Rick?"

It's the first words she's spoken in nearly forty-five minutes. Her voice is pure sex. Pure wickedness. It's all he can do not to slam the car into the embankment and throw her over the hood.

"Where are you panties?"

* * *

**Turns out I had a little more story left in me tonight. This morning. Whatevers. Reward me with reviews? It'll make my day when I have to wake up and go to work just three _mere_ hours from now.**

**Note to self: Beta is not a fan of dairy references when it comes to thighs. I'm glad she set me straight. How to count and _this_ in one night? I'm spoiled. 3**


	3. Chapter 3

**A quicky to tide you over. You're welcome.**

* * *

"Beckett…" his voice is a soft rumble.

She wants to look. She_ really_ wants to look. Not yet though. Soon.

"Yes, Rick?" she purrs in a bedroom voice that surprises even herself.

"Where are your panties?"

His voice hitches on 'panties'. Yeah, she has his complete attention now. Her eyes meet his and she sees the lust she is feeling reflected back toward her.

"Eyes on the road, Castle."

He complies, albeit with a put upon sigh and a slightly childish looking pout.

As a reward and because she simply can't resist, she slithers as close to him as she can get from within the confines of the bucket seat, slides her hand over his thigh and traces the inseam of his jeans, starting at the rough fabric behind his knee and working her way up to where it has worn thin and soft between his thighs. She strokes up and down, a little higher on every trek. She thinks he might be panting a little. She knows he's sweating. She can smell the heady aroma of his cologne as his body heat dials it up a notch.

He smells like wine, leather and apples.

She bites back the laugh that threatens to bubble up to the surface; because while she _is_ incredibly turned on, these little games they play are, on another level, completely juvenile and a little insane. She loves that he can bring out this side of her. Loves that he bothered to look past her walls and find it within her. She loves_ him._ But that's nothing new. She's been in love with him for years. She's been showing it to him for months. She should probably _tell _him at some point. He_ has_ to know. Right?

"Kate…" he warns. His voice is tight and barely restrained. She can almost feel the need, seeping out from his pores and coiling in her direction. "Driving here. And unless you want me to stop this car and take you on the side of the road, you'll control yourself."

Control herself? _Control herself_?

She hates him.

She smirks and narrows her eyes, slowly takes her hand back; lets her nails graze over his thigh and trail a path to his groin before removing herself completely.

"Yeah, you probably should focus on the road, Castle."

"I'll have you know, Kate, that I am excellent at multitasking."

"Really?" she questions. "Still… it might be safer if you keep your hands at ten and two."

"Ten is completely sufficient."

He winks at her, and she raises a brow. He reaches over and palms her breast, gently closing his fingers around it and testing the weight.

"Color me impressed, Writer-Boy," Kate deadpans.

He removes his hand to shift gears, the engine roars to life, and they are flying down the freeway.

"You ain't seen nothing yet, Detective_-girl_."

She rolls her eyes at him, in payment for the cheesy line. But before she is even finished refocusing, his hand is under her skirt and his index finger is busying itself between her most intimate of places. She groans as he parts her and plays at her entrance. Shudders as his middle finger enters the equation. Sucks in a breath, that she has trouble releasing, as he enters her.

No. She_ definitely_ loves him.

Her hips jerk as he curls his fingers inside her, his palm grinding deeply into her pelvis. It sends the tight bundle of nerves into frenzy and she feels herself tighten around his… oh so skilled, digits. She's losing control. If she doesn't shut this down, right this minute, she is going to detonate. Make a mess on the supple, leather seats of his shiny, red Ferrari. And while that isn't an altogether unpleasant thought, she feels a little guilty for the position she's put him in. The bulge in his pants looks downright painful. The fabric of his jeans is taut and stretched thin and his jaw is clenched tight as he tries to keep his eyes focused on the road ahead. He's trying desperately to stay in control and it doesn't seem fair to her if he can't join her where she's headed.

She watches as the suburbs morph into countryside, as he exits the LIE and veers onto Memorial. She _has_ to look away, because his smug but constrained face is making it harder for her to hold off. She places her hand upon his to slow his actions. She presses the top of his palm firmly, to still his movements and remove his fingers from inside her. He offers her a confused glance and she smiles serenely in his direction before returning her gaze to the scenery.

She smooths her skirt back down over her legs, adjusts the sweater so it's not bunched up around her neck. When did _that _happen? She applies fresh lip balm and takes cleansing breaths. She has put herself back together and she thinks that she'd fit right back in with the surroundings; as houses become households and wannabe becomes wealth.

Although… she doubts that many Stepford wives are getting fingered by a hot, best-selling author, in a pretty, red Ferrari, at seventy-five miles per hour.

* * *

"Oh! Castle! Apples!" she cries suddenly, as they pass a sign for an orchard advertising tours and chance to pick your own fruit.

"Beckett, I believe that is _my _safe word," he quips with a grin. The confusion is still written all over his face. He's looking at her like she's grown a second head. She should probably clarify.

"No, Castle. Not _that._ I saw a sign for an orchard. We can pick some apples for the party. You _are_ going to have somewhere to bob for apples aren't you?"

His face blooms into a brilliant smile. His eyes crinkle and his teeth show, bright and white, a look of utter adoration directed her way. Now she's the confused one. What on earth about what she had just said could possibly have made him so completely happy? Did the man have some kind of farm-girl fantasy going on? Overalls and straw hats?

"You are a bewildering woman, Katherine Beckett."

"'Eh, that's why you love me, Castle."

It slips out unfiltered and both his eyebrows rise.

Oh.

* * *

**Too Canadian for you? Don't ask. I was confused too. :D To me, Eh sounds like M'eh. **

**You _know_ what I like. **


	4. Chapter 4

"You _are_ going to have somewhere to bob for apples aren't you?"

His heart swells and she looks at him as if he's lost his mind. He must be wearing a ridiculous grin right about now; he can feel it in the way his cheeks stretch and how his jaw aches a little. But she's just so… extraordinary. How she's worrying about his party; that she has genuinely seemed thrilled about the idea of dressing up in costumes and playing host to their friends and family. How fearless she has become in regard to the status of their relationship.

In the beginning, he had harbored a nagging doubt that she had wanted to keep it secret because she wasn't fully invested. He'd been so very wrong. One night - after a few too many drinks, and a few too little words, on both their parts – he had all but accused her of being a coward, told her that if she was so very embarrassed about being with him, she may as well just leave.

She had slapped him, hard, and then sunk to her knees in tears.

It was the jolt he had needed to break him out of his foolishness and force him to truly get over the past. The fierce flash of anger and the devastated look of hurt, before the sting of her open palm, had all but assured him of her feelings toward him.

"I'm doing this so we can be together…" she had sobbed into the rug. It was barely a broken whisper. "Or they'll tear us apart."

"Who?" he had quietly asked.

"Gates, regulations, whoever it is that's out to kill me. Take your pick, Castle."

He had drawn her up to her feet and into his embrace, silently walked her to bed, ashamed of himself.

"I'm so sorry," he had whispered into her hair as he curled his body around hers and cursed his own name. "I'm so sorry, Kate."

The next morning they had talked, properly, and decided to arrange a meeting with Gates. They had also decided that anyone who wanted Kate dead knew her well enough to know that he was her cornerstone, relationship or not. They were going to come clean.

It had gone better than they ever could have hoped.

"I know," Gates had said when they confessed to being together. Castle had wondered if the captain had installed cameras in the gym, because apart from that _one_ time, they had been exceedingly careful.

The outwardly rigid woman had had the audacity to smirk. "You're not NYPD, Castle, and you've signed the releases," she had said, before the smirk morphed into a truly evil grin. "If you get yourself killed, either by Detective Beckett here _or _on the job, it's no extra paperwork for me." Then she had schooled her features back to classic Iron Gates and the meeting had been over. "Dismissed."

And that had been that.

Kate had attended the premiere of Heat Wave on his arm, had wowed the media with her poise and impeccable style. And then the world knew, and new life had been breathed into their burgeoning relationship. The banter returned; the playfulness and biting remarks. The careful shyness and tiptoeing, which tends to come with a new connection, had evaporated.

He pulled his mind back from its musings, seconds were ticking by and he had yet to reply.

How she managed to pull herself back together so quickly from his ministrations might have bruised his ego a little, if not for the still flushed cheeks and the look of pure concentration she had been paying to the scenery as it flew by. Kate was a master of control, but she had her tells. He most definitely had put her on the brink, what confused him was why she had pulled herself off the edge.

"You are a bewildering woman, Katherine Beckett."

"Eh, that's why you love me, Castle."

Except for the L word. They hadn't tackled _that yet._

No time like the present, he thinks as the shock of her casual acceptance of his love fades and a new plan formulates in his mind.

If they take care of this now, by the time everybody leaves on Friday, the weekend will be theirs to enjoy with nothing looming or left unsaid.

"I do," he says, pulling into the unpaved and dusty driveway that leads to the orchard.

"Love you, that is," he clarifies as he pulls the car into an open area, away from mini-vans and work trucks.

He's beginning to wonder about the wisdom in bringing the sports car for the trip. He cringes a little, when a pebble pings against the paint as he brings the car to a stop.

She must take his grimace as a reaction to his confession because her hand covers his in an instant and he sees the sheen of tears in her eyes.

"Castle, I…"

"Kate, you don't have to. I mean… I know. You…"

"Castle, shut up."

There's the sexy woman he's knows and loves. He shuts up.

"Castle, I know I haven't said it. I know you're probably wondering…"

"I'm not wondering…"

She raises one perfectly arched eyebrow.

"Shutting up."

"Castle, apart from family… I've never actually… said it."

Never? Huh. He'd thought with Will… maybe even Josh. _Never?_

Oh. This is big. Because if she's never said it and she's about to, things just became a whole lot more serious. She's a one and done girl. And he's pretty sure he's her one. His vision blurs as images rapidly fire through his synapses. Kate, towering over him as he kneels on one knee and asks the most important question of his life. Kate, wearing an ivory gown and a magnificent smile. Kate, with her hand resting gently over the swell in her abdomen. Kate, Kate…

"You with me here, Castle?"

Oh. Right.

"Kate…" he breathes. He's having trouble inhaling enough oxygen and his leg jiggles in anticipation.

"Castle… _Rick_…"

She palms his jaw, her fingers trailing along his earlobe, her thumb stroking under his eye.

"I love you."

She states it plainly. Clear and strong. There's no hesitation, no doubt. It's just a statement of fact. The truth.

It's hotter than _anything_ that he's ever heard her utter or moan.

"I love you, too," he breathes into her mouth as his lips claim hers. "So... so much," he punctuates into her jaw, her cheeks, and the long column of her neck. His fingers tangle in her curls and she moans. Her nails dig into his scalp, dragging up and down, sending happy tingles to his spine. The skin behind her ear is tangy; it tastes of salt and soap. The perfume he'd witnessed her dab on earlier is bitter to his tongue, and yet… it's the sweetest thing he's ever savored. He thinks he could feast on her skin for a lifetime.

A knocking on the window assures him the universe is out to spite him and breaks the moment. She pulls back and eyes him from behind her mussed hair, a shy smile on her swollen lips. He presses a kiss to the back of her hand before turning and opening the window.

"Hey, folks!" the aging man grins as he leans in against the window pane. "Looking to pick some apples today?"

"Uh…ye..." He clears his throat to dissipate the rough bass of his arousal. "Yeah, we are."

He's proud of the result. He wonders how much the fellow saw.

"Well, come on out," he smiles, "plenty of daylight left. You're not too late."

If he did see anything, he's not letting on. Castle is grateful for the consideration if he did. He likes this man.

The rugged looking farmer, with his sun-crinkled skin and greying temples steps back so they he can exit the car. Kate steps out and joins him at the rear of the vehicle, hooking an arm casually around his waist.

"I'm Zeke," he says, shaking Castle's hand and nodding politely toward Kate. "You've got two options here. We offer tours, a tractor ride to the orchard, half an hour picking and ending with a sampling of my wife's famous apple pie; or you can just grab a basket, take a stroll through the blocks and enjoy the scenery. You might prefer that route; the sun will be setting soon. If you walk just a little that way…" he gestures toward a set of rolling hills, where Castle appreciates the symmetrical rows of lush, green trees. "You'll have the perfect vista of the orchard and the sun as it goes down. "

"That sounds lovely," Kate says from beside him. And so it is settled.

Castle pulls a few bills from his wallet, the owner offers him a basket in return and they are on their way.

The air is fresh; it smells of damp earth and fresh cut grass. Leaves crunch beneath their feet. The breeze is crisp and he pulls her snug into his side as they meander uphill toward a clearing amongst the rows. Dappled, amber sunlight filters through the trees. Tiny pools of light converging into a warm glow of ambience at the base of a large sassafras tree. They settle underneath. The leaves are curious, a magnificent jumble of shapes and varying fall colors. Yellows and oranges, a few remaining green, the odd purple leaf or two. It's beautiful.

As is she.

They sit quietly, hands clasped, his thumb stroking the back of her hand; and they watch as the sun slowly lowers behind the hills. After a while, he untangles their hands. He uses the knife the orchard owner provided him to cut a slice off one of the apples they'd picked along the way. He feeds it to her and she moans as she bites into its juicy flesh.

"Mmm, Castle, this is so good. So sweet."

"You're sweet," he says, lightly pecking her nose.

God. When did he become such a sap?

She rewards him with a full on, teeth baring smile, her eyes crinkling around the edges. She leans in and captures his lips with her own, her tongue tracing his mouth, seeking entrance. He wraps his hands around her, running his hand up and down the soft wool of her sweater, pushing his tongue into her open mouth. He tastes the sweetness of the apple, of her. She answers in kind, sucking on the swell of his lips, probing the corners of his mouth, remapping the contours and ridges of his teeth.

When their lips finally part, they both gasp.

Swiftly, he kisses her neck and marvels as goosebumps form under his fingertips. He slides her sweater over her head and rains kisses upon her skin; her hands knead and dig into his back, pulling him closer.

He pulls her bra straps down, dropping his head to lave his mouth over her breasts, to tease and pull at her nipples. Gently biting, sucking, nuzzling.

He slides his hands down her smooth legs, massages her calves and kneads her ass. She watches him, transfixed and hands idly grazing his sides, as though she's discovering him anew. His heart pounds; her breath is ragged as he slides the skirt over her hips. His chest heaves and her eyes are black with desire. Her hands fumble with the button of his jeans as he slides a finger inside her. There's no resistance and she closes her eyes as he slips inside.

* * *

Her heart pounds as he moves his fingers in and out, knuckles grazing her clit, his hot breath on her neck. Her fingers finally find purchase on his fly and she quickly pulls it down, the need to have him inside her is overwhelming and he is entirely over-dressed.

"Castle," she moans, "please…"

"Hmm?" he growls into her throat.

"Get. Naked." She pants, her hips moving upwards in response to his attentive hands.

Suddenly she is bathed in cold air as his body leaves her side. She feels a pang of disappointment but it is quickly assuaged as she realizes he is indeed getting naked.

It doesn't take long. He grabs her by the waist and pulls her back to his side. Her mouth is desperate for his, her body crying out for release. His erection is rigid, yet smooth, pressed flat and hard against her belly. She reaches for him, finds warm and velvet skin in her palm.

"Fuck… Kate."

"Yes," she agrees, the gravelly tone of his voice sending liquid heat rushing to her core.

They need no more words. She rolls on top of him. He lifts up her hips and without hesitation, slams her body onto his. She cries out and falls forward, buries her head in his shoulder. He fills her. So full, so tight, so precise. They are a perfect match. She feels like weeping from how… real… this moment is. He stretches her yet she feels her muscles dragging him deeper. She can't think. Can't breathe. She can only, feel, as he claims hers. Takes her. Breaks her. Re-creates her.

They roll. She wraps her legs around him, tightly, frantic to hang on as their rhythm quickens. She's dizzy as his hands grip at her waist, lifting her up and setting her back down. She feels lightheaded and it's all she can do to hold on as her orgasm overcomes her.

He follows soon after, colliding onto her chest in an exhausted heap, his broad ribcage smothering her, surrounding her, ensconcing her in a circle of warmth and love.

Finally, he recovers enough to roll off her, and they hold each other close as the sun disappears over the horizon. They gasp for breath, neither speaking as the musky scent of apples fills their noses and the brittle crunch of leaves rustles underneath them.

"Castle?"

"Hum?"

"There are leaves up my ass."

* * *

**So... how you like _them_ apples?**

**My never-ending love and affection to Avi. One: for suggesting the apple bobbing in the first place. And two: for not hating this. I would have cried. I am in love with this chapter. I hope you are too?**


	5. Chapter 5

"Castle, there are leaves up my ass."

He snorts, mood officially broken; rises and begins picking up and shaking out their scattered clothes.

"Come on," he says, offering her a hand up and with his other, offering her skirt.

She takes it and quickly shimmies it back on, a slight blush and a cheeky twinkle in her eye.

"Wouldn't have taken you for an al fresco type of guy, Castle."

She _wouldn't_?

Well then. He's definitely lost his touch if that is what she thinks of him. He files it away for later, among the long and varied list of things he'd like to do to, and with, Kate Beckett. There are plenty of semi-private locations near his beach home that will quickly assuage her of that assumption. It seems that the playboy, who had so easily retreated when she had stolen his heart, needs to make an encore performance. And_ wait…_ Something about that playful tenor sounded an awful lot like this wasn't the first time she'd let loose outdoors.

He holds her shirt hostage as he slips his jeans and shirt back on. She waits, hands on hips with a slight scowl.

"And exactly how many times have you become one with nature, Detective Beckett?" he asks playfully.

She smiles and holds out her hand, corner of her lip locked between her teeth.

"Oh, no. No shirt until I know. "

The lip is released with an audible pop and a delectable pout forms on her face. He'd like to take that lip and suck it between his own, make a meal of it.

"Not gonna work, Kate. You can't charm me with that adorable frown."

"Castle…" she warns.

He holds the shirt high above his head, feeling victorious and a little childish. Bet she wishes she'd worn the four inch heels now.

"I mean really, Detective Beckett, exactly _how__ many_ laws have you broken in the quest for… what was it you called it? Ah, yes..._al fresco._"

"I didn't tell you my other number, Ricky. What makes you think I'm going to tell you this one?"

"Because we're together now. And you love me." She smiles, softening, so of course he taunts her."Plus... I have your shirt."

The smile fades and her eyes narrow to mischievous slits.

"Yes," she agrees, taking a step toward him, "we _are_ together now. Which means…" she sidles up to him and suddenly his mouth is dry. Her naked breasts glide along his side, her nipples taut and obvious, grazing his flank even through the shirt. She wraps herself around him; he feels an arm snake around his waist, wander lower until his ass is cupped in her palm. It's then, he knows he's in trouble; he's not a young man anymore. Is she trying to kill him? Still, it's sending delightful shivers down his spine and his arms drop heavily to his side, as she reaches around and cups his groin.

"Ha!" she cries triumphantly, as his fingers go slack. She snags the shirt and runs down the trail away from him.

It leaves him slack-jawed and entirely in awe. "You little brat," he cries after her retreating form.

He hears a delightful giggle and a not so lady-like snort in return; watches the easy sway of her hips as she slows to a walk and slips the shirt over her head. She can lead all she wants if this is the view he's treated to.

She stops then, turns and quirks an eyebrow. He knows what's next.

"You coming, Castle?"

It doesn't matter; it still stops him in his tracks. For her? Always.

"Yeah…" he stutters, trotting alongside her. She clasps her hand in his and they stroll back toward the entrance.

Twilight settles in around them, cool and lending a whimsical glow to the orchard. He leads them off the path a few times, weaves them in and out of the rows. He picks an apple and takes a bite; they forgot the basket up at the sassafras. She steals it from him, claiming their earlier actions left her famished. He doesn't mind. Not when her tongue darts out to lick her lips and she's looking at him as though she'd like him to be dessert.

He knows they should hurry but he's not ready to break the spell. He curls his fingers through hers and leads them on a meandering trail back. A few times they have trouble discerning the path from the rows of fruit trees and she playfully questions his manhood, his ability to navigate. But it's almost like nobody ever comes up here; slightly shorter grass and a few spots where it's worn to the soil below are the only indication that it even _is_ a path.

It takes them a while and it's dark by the time they reappear in the lot. Zeke meets them with a friendly wave and a tip of his hat as they finally reach the gravel.

"Hey, folks. I was beginning to think you'd gotten lost."

"We were enjoying the view," Castle says, implying the scenery but thinking only of Kate, gloriously naked, skin glowing bronze in the setting sun.

"It was pretty spectacular," Kate agrees.

He can't miss the hint of desire in her tone, the silky husk. He wonders if Zeke catches on but the man says nothing, simply nods and gestures towards a picturesque farm house. The house is beautiful; yellow siding, dark green shutters and a large wrap-around porch. It's something straight out of a Norman Rockwell painting and Castle is instantly drawn to it; wants to know what lies inside.

"If you wouldn't mind, my wife...she's a fan. Now, feel free to say no, I know it's an imposition. But if you could maybe...say hello? It might get me out of a few doghouses, if you know what I mean?"

Ah, and now the abandoned trail makes a lot more sense. The fact that not only did they not run into anyone on their walk and subsequent dalliance, but also that Zeke didn't come looking for them when they'd been gone so long. He'd been made the minute Zeke had laid eyes on him. A sign on the steps advertises only the guided tour.

Kate smirks in Zeke's direction as though she knows exactly what he means and he thinks she's being a little rude; he hasn't been in the doghouse for at least three weeks; maybe four!

"I'll make it worth your while with one of her famous pies, Mr. Castle." Zeke says to sweeten the deal.

"Oh, it'a not a problem," he replies easily, puffing up a little with pride. "It would be my pleasure. Is she much of a fan?"

Kate rolls her eyes, he'd expect nothing less.

"Ha, you have no idea, son. She has every one of your novels, lined up chronologically on the shelf in our bedroom. God forbid I put one of Patterson's amongst them. You'd think I'd committed a federal offense."

Castle smirks, feels stupidly pleased with this show of loyalty from the farmer's wife. He likes her already.

"Oh, I just love Patterson," Kate snarks happily from beside him, throwing Zeke a wink and hooking her arm through the old man's elbow. "Have you read his latest? Cross Fire? I just adored that one," she gushes. "It was _such _a page-turner."

They divulge happily into discussion of Patterson's work on the short walk to the farmhouse and he thinks this must be her payback; some kind of recompense for holding the shirt hostage.

Point Beckett.

* * *

Zeke's wife is lovely, if a little over the top in her praise, she actually squeals when he offers to sign a few of her books. And the house. It not only delivers but exceeds his expectations from outside. Gleaming pine floorboards and pale, unadorned walls, creams and whites with oriental rugs and floral seating as bright and colorful accents. Family pictures, at least three generations on the mantel. But more importantly it's the aroma. Apples and cinnamon, the fresh-baked waft of sugary pie crust. It's enough to make his mouth water. If it tastes even half as good as it smells, he will spend an hour talking with the woman.

It turns out that he does spend an hour with her. She is charming and effervescent, sweet and a shameless flirt.

He knows Kate will give him grief about it later on, but that's one of the reasons he loves her. She's not afraid to knock him down a peg or two. She's the first in a long time, ever perhaps. Mother and Alexis excluded.

Meredith didn't seem to give a damn. She was happy to let him do as he pleased as long as the booze flowed and the parties never ended. It had been fun. He'd been infatuated with the idea of being famous, young and in love. The world was his oyster and he had intended to dine. Unfortunately, only he was aware that a baby should mean an end to that kind of lifestyle. Alexis had come along and it had quickly become clear that Meredith wasn't going to settle down. She hadn't been in love; and neither had he. When his beautiful little girl screamed bloody murder, it has put him in his place. She hadn't even been an hour old.

_Then_ he'd been in love.

Gina was different. She had pushed for it, had encouraged his ego; and after years of being a single parent, he had felt as though he deserved it. She had banked on his fame and provided the image to go with it. Never would she have dared to tell him to knock it off if he went too far. Not when he was the goose that laid the golden eggs. She played her part and he played his. For a while they had even played them well. Alexis was growing up, needed him less and less with every passing day and he thought maybe she could use a mother figure. He thought he just needed to try harder. He thought he could make it work; that he could grow their affection. Maybe it would turn into love if only he applied himself.

It had taken his mother, of all people, to sit him down and tell him what was what. "Richard, Darling," she had said. "Love is not a switch; you can't just turn it on and off."

Convenient? Yes. Love? No. And he'd really need to have a talk to his mother about recycling lines.

So when Kate, who he _knew_ was a huge fan, still had the nerve to knock him off his pedestal, it had instantly drawn him in; had piqued his curiosity and begged him to investigate further. When she consistently denied her knowledge of his work, even went to lengths to hide it, it maddened him and made him want to write better still. For her. To her. Until she couldn't deny it any longer. His writing, his character, his love.

Kate made him want to prove something. To her; but also to himself. Kate wanted real. And for the first time, he wanted to be real. He understood now why they called it true love.

As soon as they each got over themselves enough to be real, they'd found true.

It's with a twinge of sadness that he bids the elderly couple farewell. In his mind they are the epitome of what family should be; two loving parents, a throng of children and grand-children. The well-kept home with fresh-baked goods in the oven, the successful family business. He's knows better than to think their life has been perfect, that it would be a perfect situation for himself and Kate, but in this moment at least, he wishes for nothing more than to one day have that for themselves.

* * *

He's right. She does give him hell.

As soon as they merge back onto the highway she's laughing and giving him a hard time.

"June can't believe how you come up with such accurate portrayals of murderers, Castle." She scoffs. "How many murderers do you think she's met anyway?"

He has to grit his teeth and acknowledge that one. The lady had been as sweet as can be, not at all jaded and something of a throwback to an earlier time. He doubts her knowledge of the evil that men can do goes beyond an avid consumption of movies and print.

"And the bookshelf... wow. Zeke wasn't kidding. I thought she was going to hit you when you put Heat Wave back in the wrong place."

He grins, squeezes her thigh and lets her continue because soon enough she's going to back herself into a corner and he'll score a point for himself.

"And the hair comment. Do you _know _how hard it was for me not to share how long it takes you to get ready in the morning?"

Oh, he can't let this one go. The woman wakes up an hour earlier than necessary to tend to her own luscious locks.

"Oh please, Miss, "Let me just straighten my naturally curly hair, and then _re-curl it."" _He doesn't get this about her at all. Why would anyone willingly leave the cocoon of his bed any earlier than necessary? "All before seven! That's not normal, Beckett!"

"It's a process Castle, you wouldn't understand. De-poofing and such."

"You're gorgeous fresh out of the shower."

She blushes, the only hint that she is affected by his words. "Your flattery will get you nowhere."

"June liked my charms."

And here it comes. He can feel it. Victory within his grasp.

"Well yeah, of course. She's your _biggest fan,_" she says in a voice that is eerily reminiscent of the elderly lady who'd just spent the better part of an hour gushing over his work, his life... his hair.

He laughs and then schools his features to serious; holds her hand, not sure if to offer comfort or just to stop it from smacking him.

"No," he says calmly. "That's _definitely_ you."

There's a beat of silence while she studies his face, weighing her options, deciding whether to continue this game or let him have his moment.

"Fine," she finally mutters, crinkling her nose and offering him a wry grin. "You win this round, Mr. Castle."

As though in sync, they both shake their heads and chortle. He's glad the transformation in their relationship didn't stifle the repartee they had perfected over the years. He's grown to realize that you don't need to change yourself for a successful relationship to flourish. As Montgomery had said, just keep showing up.

She squeezes his hand and places it on her thigh. He turns up the radio and they spend the last few miles of the ride in comfortable silence.

He'll never stop showing up.

* * *

**Like pulling teeth this chapter. Without anesthetic. **

**I swear to God, for _realsies_ this time, they will get to the Hamptons next chapter. Sorry about the wait, I was on Maui this weekend, having my own little Humptons moment. But back to Oahu and reality now. **

**As always, my gratitude to Avi for telling me when the writing was crap.**


	6. Chapter 6

Sagaponack is not what she had expected when she had imagined Rick's other home. The Hamptons, for Kate, brought to mind sprawling mansions and the masters of the universe who owned them. She had always had trouble reconciling the man she knew with the preconceived notions she had about the type of people who would flock to the Hamptons for the summer. As they drive through the small town, she notes with a smile the carefully preserved history, the almost quaint nature of the village that sat tucked between Bridge and East Hampton.

She doesn't know exactly what she had been anticipating as the long semi-private driveway curves and winds its way toward the oceanfront. They pass an elaborate colonial and a modern monstrosity; she feels a weight she didn't know she'd been carrying lift off her shoulders as he points towards the water.

"There she is," he says, with a note of pride in his voice.

She knows this land, in this location, would have cost him a small fortune; but as the outline of the home morphs into a clear view, she breathes a sigh of relief at the unassuming presence of the cedar shake beach house.

The home is modest; cheerful. Washed out cedar and bright white trim. Sitting on just a few acres, it doesn't beg for attention. It looks like it belongs. A lush, green lawn surrounds the house and it glimmers a dark emerald in the moonlight. The tires crunch on gravel as they pull into the driveway adding to the rustic feel of the property.

"It's beautiful," she says as they step out of the car and he comes to her side, wrapping an arm around her waist.

"Let me show you," he murmurs into her ear and leads her toward the front porch.

"The bags?"

"Can wait 'til morning."

The stairs creak and the wind whistles through the angled beams supporting the upper deck where they are headed. The soft crash of waves on sand can be heard and the air smells of salt and dried kelp. Already she can feel the stress of day to day life lifting. She wraps her arms around his waist as he fumbles with the key, the lock sticking from misuse. A dilemma she knows is at least partially her fault. He'd spent last summer in the city, hopeful and heartbroken. She lays her head on his shoulder and brushes a kiss to his trapezius, promises herself that she will somehow make it up to him. Eventually the key jiggles into place, the tumbler releasing with a metallic clunk. She releases him from her grasp and lets him lead her inside.

If outside was a relief, inside is a revelation. The entrance hall opens into a large great room. An expanse of vaulted ceilings and whitewashed wood. The floors are maple, light and fine grained, with the occasional swirl that draws the eye towards the bank of French doors and large picture windows that lead to a back porch. She imagines that in daylight the view will be stunning. A large fireplace sits along the front wall, sandy brick and looking well used. She anticipates enjoying it with him, curled into his lap, and laying upon the plush overstuffed couches. The décor is all whites and beiges; the only splash of color some wildly abstract paintings that remind her of wildflowers and a selection of cheery, orange and yellow throw pillows.

The loft feels safe, like home and family. The beach house feels joyful and carefree, like an escape from reality. She understands now why he has been so eager to get her out here. After the last few months they have had, an escape is exactly what has been called for.

"It's an upside down house," he informs her in a voice that is almost giddy.

She gives him a confused glance and he gestures toward a staircase to her left.

"The bedrooms are downstairs; this entire floor is living space to take advantage of the views. Oh Kate, you are going to love the view. And there is nothing better than rolling out of bed and taking a morning dip in the ocean. Come on, let me show you the kitchen," he continues hurriedly, his voice a little too high in pitch. "You are gonna get a kick out of it. The appliances are all retro and vintage looking. Come on," he tugs on her hand and leads the way.

He's gushing, more so than the usual Castle exuberance and Kate realizes he is worried about what she thinks of the place. Which is ridiculous because how could you _not_ love it?

"Castle," she says, pulling him to a stop beside the counter and kissing his lips. "It's perfect."

"You really like it?" he asks, his eyes hopeful and a little uncertain.

"It's you. It's not nothing at all like I imagined, and yet, so completely you. I love it." He smiles. "I love you," she adds softly.

She watches his worry lift, shoulders relaxing, and the tension leaving his jaw. He dives for her mouth, hands tangling in her hair, pushing her up against the counter. Tongues clash and lips meld, heat surrounds them and she gasps into his mouth. Finally, after leaving her a little breathless, he slows the assault.

"What was that for?" she asks, not at all unhappy but still a little surprised.

"I am never going to tire of hearing you say that," he says, a slight blush creeping toward his cheeks.

"It's the truth," she shrugs, squeezing his bicep and wandering to the fridge. She opens the door. "So, what are you going to feed me? I'm starving."

"We have pie," he offers, referring to the mountain of baked goods that June had sent them packing with.

"Ugh. Real food, Castle. We haven't eaten anything substantial all day."

"Pie is substantial."

"Pie is dessert."

"You'll be dessert."

"Not if you don't feed us dinner first."

"Touché'"

They set about making dinner and it's fairly slim pickings without having stopped at a grocery store; but between them they manage to concoct a fairly respectable meal. Spaghetti with jarred sauce and frozen garlic bread. But the herbs, fresh from a pot above the windowsill add some flavor to the sauce and the wine he chooses, a smooth and dusky red, goes down easily. They eat mainly in silence, sharing glances and occasionally brushing fingertips. It feels like a date. It leaves them feeling full and satiated.

"Come on," he says as they put away the last of the dishes and Kate lets out a yawn. "Let me show you our room."

She likes the sound of that. Both the use of "our room" and the prospect of sleep.

They don't make love; they simply shed their clothes and fall gratefully into the lush cotton bedding. He wraps an arm around her waist and she brings his hand up to her lips. The last thing she remembers is his lips on her neck and a whisper of, "Sleep well" behind her ear before she falls asleep.

She wakes to the sound of the ocean.

Louder than before, the waves must have picked up. It calls to her and she slips quietly from the bed. Kate wraps the sheet he has kicked off at some point around her naked body and makes her way out onto the balcony. There are lounge chairs arranged for comfort but the short set of steps leading from the lower balcony to the beginning of the beach looks more appealing. From the lowest tread she will be able to dig her toes into the sand; she can't remember the last time she was at the beach. She sits, watches the waves and the bright white of their crests in the moonlight. She breathes in the cool, night air and marvels at the turnabout in her life. How a few short months ago she wasn't even sure she'd still be breathing.

She couldn't say how long she sits on the step contemplating their future, but it doesn't surprise her when she feels his presence at her side.

"I brought pie," he says as he sits alongside her.

* * *

**It's a bit of a quicky, sorry about that. There was flail to be had. But hey, it's something! Non-beta'd so blame me for any and all errors, typos, etc. Be kind. **

**So you liked it? _(So we're clear, this is both your bad promo reference and your cue to review.)_**

**So, how 'bout that promo? So much pretty, so little time. I have no clue what's going to happen but I guess that's the point of a promo. Titillate me with the sexy, annoy me with the bad dialogue cuts and leave me clueless about the case. Well played ABC, well played. Is it the 24th yet?**


	7. Chapter 7

"I brought pie," he says as he sits alongside her.

She looks over at him, smiles and lays her head on his shoulder.

"Hey, Castle."

"What you doing out here? It's freezing."

She shrugs, as though she hasn't noticed and he settles down at her side. She shifts away for a moment and he wonders if maybe he should have stayed inside, left her to work out alone whatever it is that has her awake so early in the morning. He's about to say something, maybe apologize and make an excuse to leave her be, when he realizes what she is up to.

"Here," she says, opening the sheet from around her naked body and rewrapping it around the both of them.

They sit in silence, knees and elbows nudging, watching as the sun rises over the ocean, scattering light rays in a formidable kaleidoscopic of color. Scarlett and pink splashing across the horizon, yellow and gold rays of light, scraping and piercing their way upwards, until the ocean is a deep blue and the sky the color of forget me nots.

"Thank you," she finally whispers into the air.

"For what?" he asks.

She inhales deeply, wearing a serene, close-lipped smile. Eyes closed and her face washed in early morning sunlight, hair tangling in windswept tendrils around her face. She is as much at peace as he has ever seen her. She turns to him finally, revealing a brilliant smile.

"For bringing me here. To the Hamptons; into your home… and your life. For bringing me back to mine."

"Kate… I…"

She palms his jaw, silences him with a soft smile. Her eyes telling him, more profoundly even than her words, how very grateful she is to be here with him.

And what is he supposed to say to that; how can he even reply? When it feels like his heart might just take a flying leap into the ocean and float away on the current, his chest burns as it fights to retain enough oxygen for breath. He's done nothing. Not really, nothing but love her. He didn't have a choice in that.

She kisses him then. It's slow and luxurious, pressed chest to chest as the sheet falls to their laps, arms tangling and hands roaming. And then she's straddling him and suddenly it's more of a mad dash to the finish line than a slow stroll on the beach. He leans back, places a hand behind himself to brace her weight as she leans into him, her hands carding through his hair, pushing him backwards. And that's when he feels it... Warm and wet, slippery, sticky.

…The pie.

"Ew, ew, eeew!" he cries, breaking off from her mouth.

"Castle?" she jerks up, away from his mouth, a look of surprise, and perhaps a little affront, on her face.

"The pie," he cringes, raising his hand and showing her the evidence of his blunder, already he's missing the presence of her body heat in the chilly morning air.

She collapses onto him, warm and giggly, and it's all he can do not to fall back onto the now ruined pastry. He wraps a hand around her waist to steady them, realizing too late that it's the one covered in apple pie.

"Oh god!" she laughs into his shoulder, cackling and snorting until she is nothing but a quivering mess in his lap. "And it started out so well," she says, leaning back and smirking at him with a look that implies she thinks he an imbecile. An imbecile she loves, but an imbecile no less.

This won't do. It _had _started out well, and he _really_ wants to return to where they were just moments ago. An idea sparks; it's going to end either really well, or as a complete disaster. He searches her face for any true sign of annoyance and finding none he decides to go for it. There's no time like the present and when will he ever find himself in this situation again?

"You know what I'd _really_ like right about now?" he says and she quirks an eyebrow in reply.

He reaches behind himself, picks up some of the gooey mess.

"Pie," he husks, tracing a line of lumpy, sticky syrup between her breasts.

"Cas…" she tries to reprimand but he silences her with his mouth, trails his tongue along the ragged path of fruit and filling that he's created.

"Mm?" he questions as he darts his tongue between her breasts, takes a detour to trace her nipple with just the lightest of touches. He receives a breathy moan and fingernails raking through his hair as reply.

"You've got a little right…" he scoops up some more filling, dabs it on her chin, slides his fingers into her mouth. "…here," he breaths on a shudder as she swirls her tongue around his index finger before releasing it with a pop.

Kate shoots him an amused glance, reaches around to scoop up some filling of her own. She sucks some into her mouth, eyes locked on his, a sexy grin surrounding her finger. "Mm, s'good," she says as the digit pops out of her mouth. She traces his lips with wet and slightly sticky fingers.

He grabs her wrist, pulling one and then two fingers into his mouth; he sucks and bites gently on the pads, memorizes the whorls of her fingerprints with the flat of his tongue. Still holding her wrist he guides his mouth down her hand, grazes his teeth over the fleshy bundle of muscle below her thumb, to her wrist, on a path to the crook of her elbow. She straddles his thigh, grinds above him, over him, leaving a trail, messy and slick of her own.

"Castle…" she breathes, hands circling around his waist, squeezing his ass briefly before contact is lost. He wonders where her hands went and mourns at the loss of contact but he doesn't have to wonder for long. He lurches in shock and twitches in her hand as her fingers circle his erection. She slides up and down, rubs a thumb over the tip, soppy pie filling falling between her fingers and landing in his lap. His arms go slack and he releases her wrist, as she slides down his body and takes him in her mouth and… oh god, he wants this moment to last forever but if she doesn't stop right this second he's going to make a mess.

Well… more of a mess. Her tongue works in frantic circles, mouth hot and wet around him, she groans indecently around his length and he knows he has to stop her if he's to reciprocate.

"Kate…" he grunts. "Kate, wait…"

"Rick, please," she says, almost a whine. "Let me," she implores, pushing him back down onto the deck. "I want to."

He whimpers, unable to deny her, too turned on to even try and relaxes back onto the floor.

Others have given him this but it has always seemed more out of obligation, routine even, than of want. Kate has of course indulged him before, but it isn't until this morning that he realizes that she enjoys giving this to him as much as he does her.

The juxtaposition of his overheated skin and the chilled planks sends shivers down his spine; he jerks into her mouth and he momentarily freezes, winces, hoping he didn't inadvertently gag her.

"Easy, big boy," she grins around the tip of his penis, taking a deep breath, before opening her mouth wide and taking his full length into her throat. Her hair dangles in soft curls, brushes his lap and tickles his thighs as her head bobs up and down. He thumbs a strand and tangles it loosely around his fingers as she continues her ministrations.

"Soon… you have to…" he pants. "I can't."

"Then don't," she says before once again lowering her mouth onto him.

"Oh…Jesus…God…Beckett," he grunts as he comes apart in her mouth.

"Just Kate," she winks, before lowering her gaze and discreetly wiping her mouth with the side of her thumb.

No. Not just Kate. She's everything.

* * *

He's lying flat on his back, breathing heavily with a slightly glazed over look in his eyes. Goose bumps have formed on his thighs. She doesn't know whether is a product of the chilly autumn breeze and his sweat-soaked skin or an after-effect of what she just did to him. Either way, she can't stop her hands from stroking his thigh, soothing the raised bumps away.

"Come on, Castle," she says, grabbing a hand and hauling him to seated position. "Shower time."

"Huh? Oh… yeah," he mumbles, still a little out of it.

"Pie," she says, rolling her eyes at him. "Remind me why I went along with this. Why did I think this was a _good_ idea?"

He plucks a piece of the mushy fruit off her breast and she can't help the giggle that bursts from her lips as he pops it into his mouth.

"Warm, wet, wonderfully wicked. What's not to love?" he grins.

"You're lucky I love you, Castle."

He grins, all dopey and lovesick, and she smiles back as she rises and makes her way to the bathroom.

"But cool it with the alliteration, huh?" she adds as she turns on the shower and steps inside.

"Sexy…sinful …slippery…"

She jumps. She didn't realize he was so close behind her, figured he'd still be recovering out on the deck. He crowds her into the shower stall and backs her up against the wall, runs his hands down her torso as the water streams over her shoulder and channels between her breasts.

"Sensuous…"

A hand cups her, his thumb just millimeters from where she needs it to be, before he slides back away and reaches for the soap.

"Soapy…"

He runs the soap down her back, between her shoulder blades and around her backside, lets his hands roam between her cheeks, fingers grazing close, but not quite. She runs her legs up his calf, raises on tiptoes urging him to move on, upwards, inside.

"Savor," he breathes into her neck. He deposits the soap back in the dish and braces himself with one arm against the shower wall, nibbles on her ear and purrs obscenities that make her shiver.

"Shudder," he whispers into her ear. She already is.

"Swollen…" His hand cups her pubic mound, one finger dragging between her flesh, dipping inside and withdrawing.

"Stimulating," he continues as he mounts in pressure and speed. God, she's almost there.

"Slow…" he says, slackening his movements. And if she had just a little bit more control left, she'd hit him for stopping.

His thumb rolls small circles around her clit; teasing, tormenting, tantalizing.

Oh, god. Now she's doing it.

"Stop," she growls, pressing his hand hard against her sex, needing the release.

"Stop?" he questions with a smirk.

"You know what I meant," she grunts as he grinds his hand into her. Harder, faster. Oh… right there.

"Shatter," he commands.

She feels hot, tense and yet liquid all over. Her legs clench and she slips a little against the tile wall. He holds her up though, whispering, "I've got you," and she lets her eyes rolls back in her head as her eyelids slam shut.

Shatter, he said. And so she does.

* * *

**Pie Smut. Do you people _see_ what this show and the endless wait for new material has done to me? I am left with no shame. Still...I regret nothing. I may never be able to eat apple pie with a straight face again though.**

**There's an Easter egg throughout these chapters. It's small. A word my beloved beta Avi finds way too much pleasure in using/having me use. I think it might be an illness. She needs help. Bonus points if anyone figures out what word I have perhaps overused.**

**And to Nic: Quit making babies for a minute or two and come be my other beta again. I feel like I'm to blame for inspiring you with all the smut.**


	8. Chapter 8

**Sorry about that. I went for plot and my brain was stuck on porn. There was much angst. On with the story!**

* * *

He allows her a few extra minutes in the shower, sloppily kissing her and uttering a final and breathy alliteration of "Stay," before returning, not five minutes later, with the exuberance of a small puppy and the whine to go with it. She knows by the eager way he's bouncing on his heels that her dreams of a long, soothing shower are going to be out of the question. The man is on a mission and she is to be his faithful sidekick.

"Are you done yet?" he grumbles, as she washes the last of the suds out of her hair. "We've places to go, people to see, Kate."

"We've talked about the process," she replies, shutting off the water and stepping out of the shower, batting away his hands as he reaches in to cop a feel. "This is step one. I can assure you it will go a lot faster if you move your adorable ass out of here."

"You think my ass is _adorable_?" He pouts, his bottom lip jutting out and looking delectable. She steals a quick kiss.

"Not sexy? _Manly?"_

"Castle, have you actually looked at most men's asses? I wouldn't exactly call manly a compliment. Most of them are flat as a pancake and not at all attractive."

He makes a show of tensing his glutes, an undeniably firm and rounded shelf forming. Castle, thankfully, is not cursed with the average man's ass. "Go with adorable and we'll talk about sexy later on."

She rolls her eyes and sends him packing. He grumbles a little and performs a suggestive, ass wiggling dance. It almost has her stalling the process further.

Once she appears upstairs in the great room, all bets are off; man-child is going to be the overriding personality of the day. He shoves a tumbler of coffee into her hands, herds her outside and into the Ferrari, and is whisking them into town before she has time to even grab her purse. During the short car ride he rattles on and on about his plans.

She questions his ideas; they are extravagant to say the least. All the usual things, cobwebs and jack-o-lanterns. But then it veers off into Castle territory. Coffins to serve as tables, live-action zombies. Smoke machines and dry-ice.

"I just don't understand how you plan on getting all of this achieved in," she looks at her father's watch, "eight hours, Castle."

"Oh ye of little faith, Beckett."

She raises an eyebrow. Really, eight hours isn't much time. Considering that he has yet to purchase anything he would need for a party; let alone something of the caliber he's talking about.

"Trust me." He raises an eyebrow of his own in return, lips turned into a crooked smile. "Scully."

"I cannot believe you talked me into_ that_ ridiculous idea, Castle."

He pulls the Ferrari into one of the few open spots on Main Street.

"You are gonna be _totally_ _hot _as a redhead" he says, leering and giving her body a thorough once-over. He offers her a hand out of the car and with a smirk she accepts it. He has no idea. The wig _is_ pretty bad-assed and the tight business suit, with the skin-hugging pencil skirt will, no doubt, drive him mad.

They spend the next few hours in and out of quaint boutiques and divesting the local big box store of anything and everything Halloween related. She grumbles about the lack of wallet and he, somewhat condescendingly, informs her that he is loaded and why on earth would she need a wallet? She chooses to let it go. After all, he _is_ loaded, isn't going to stop being loaded, and while she would like to at least make a gesture with an offer of lunch or coffee, in the grand scheme of things, it doesn't matter. It's a waste of time and energy to let it bother her.

"Besides, when you marry me it'll all be yo…"

Panic overtakes his features, he bites his lip and winces, looks to her with dread in his eyes. Like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

"True," she says and his jaw goes slack. "Come on Castle, buy me lunch."

She holds his hand and swallows down the moment of panic. She thinks he may actually skip for a few paces as they make their way down the cobblestone and brick path.

Thankfully, whether a product of his wealth or simply one of the many things that seems to be a surprise in this town, they hadn't needed to haul all their purchases along with them. He had arranged for everything to be delivered to the house at two and it leaves them plenty of time for a relaxing lunch.

Another thing that surprises Kate is the residents of Sagaponack. Kate's family has money. Not 'Castle money' but enough that along with the distinction of coming from a long line of well-respected lawyers, Kate's childhood had consisted of more than a few social outings amongst New York's upper crust. She's seen her fair share of gratuitous partying and money flaunting. She's never been to the Hamptons though, and she had expected something more _Beverly Hills_ than the laid back and downright small town vibe that the village gives off. People smile and say hello, nod greetings and make way for each other along the sidewalk.

They eat at Pierre's, a French bistro that relies heavily on the fresh, local seafood to populate its menu. They sit outside, on teak benches that look like they belong on a patio rather than as a welcome to a five-star eatery. Castle orders a hamburger. An expensive hamburger, but still…. Kate gives him a hard time about it between bites, as he wolfs down his sandwich and she enjoys the mussels. Steamed, with a shallot and white wine sauce, she's in heaven. She is mid-moan, Castle, mid-aroused stare, when a middle aged but gorgeous woman interrupts her food-induced ecstasy.

"Richard Castle," she cries, dropping a load of shopping bags and pulling him in for an all-encompassing hug. "So good to see you again."

Castle smiles and returns the hug; it sets Kate's nerves at ease. He obviously knows and likes the woman and so she waits for an introduction. It turns out none is needed. As soon as the lady has disentangled herself from Castle she is pulling Kate in for a warm hug, kissing her cheek.

"And you must be Kate? Richard has told me _all_ about you."

Kate smiles at the lady, there is something undeniably approachable about her. Kate quirks a brow at Castle though. All about her, huh? She finds herself not entirely surprised; Rick does tend to gush about the things he loves. She supposes he can be forgiven.

"Kate, this is Melissa. Melissa Hamilton," he finally offers, gesturing for Melissa to take a seat at their table. She accepts and they spend the next hour chatting, Kate learning all kinds of new things about Rick.

Like the fact that he spends a portion of his summers at the local library, reading to kids. It's not surprising. She knows how he is with Alexis and his love of children's books. That he had once been cited for setting fire to a small portion of the beach during a Fourth of July celebration. Definitely not surprising. He'd almost set his apartment on fire just a few months ago with a box of sparklers and the idea that if one was good, twelve would be better. She learns that Melissa had been his first kiss. Now, this surprises her. While Melissa is gorgeous, she has to be at least a few years older than Rick and Kate is eager to hear the story. Melissa has just started setting the scene, a party at the old lighthouse, and is describing in detail the cute but incredibly awkward teenaged son of the great Martha Rodgers, when Kate's phone rings.

"Saved by the bell," he laughs as Kate reluctantly answers her phone.

The caller is Lanie, informing her that she is just pulling into the hotel and that she can't wait to check out writer-boy's house. Kate looks down Main Street, towards the beach and the lighthouse that rises in the distance, wonders if it's the same one where Melissa's story takes place.

"Sorry, Lissa," Castle all too eagerly says, eavesdropping on the one-sided conversation, obviously grasping the essence of it. "Company's here. Gotta go get ready for this shin-dig. See ya, tonight?"

Melissa laughs and nods her assent, says she wouldn't miss it for the world and promises that Nick and Owen will be there shortly to assist with the house.

"Nick and Owen?" Kate questions.

"Her sons, big strapping lads. I told you not to worry about the house, Scully." He ducks as though expecting to be smacked. He probably should be. The 'Scully' thing is going to get old. Fast.

She puts a hand on her hip, eyes him curiously. "If I start calling you Mulder, will an alien spaceship take you away and save me from this annoyance?"

"You'd want this pretty face marred by alien hooks? My robust body drilled by freaky, alien, laser-probes?"

"Ah, the scars faded fast once he rose from the dead," she flippantly replies, turning and walking away from him.

"It is _so_ hot that you know that," he says running up beside her.

"One day we should discuss that convoluted myth-arc," she smirks, as she waits for him to open the car door.

"So _hot…" _he squeaks as he closes the door on her self-satisfied smile.

They arrive at the house just as Martha and Alexis are pulling in. Melissa's boys arrive shortly afterwards and the afternoon is filled with decorating and laughter. Castle does his best to show off for the girls; Martha does her best to avoid manual labor. Kate does her best to hide the swell of emotions that she feels at the so very domestic scene she has somehow become a part of.

Alexis has been making eyes at Nick, the older of the two, and Kate has been running interference between Castle and his daughter for the better half of three hours when it becomes clear. Two months out of the nest is nowhere near enough time to calm his over-protective tendencies when it comes to his baby girl. She once again claims 'the process' and drags Castle to the bedroom to get ready for the party.

"Rick," she says, patting down the ghastly tie and attaching a fake FBI badge, "she's a grown woman." She affixes the wig on her head and Castle growls in appreciation. "Besides," she continues, patting down the short red bob and slipping into a stacked pair of pumps. "Nick is hardly a threat. I think he's sweet."

And he really is sweet. For all his rippled muscles and towering height, the boy was reduced to a stammering mess when Alexis emerged from the bedroom in her costume earlier. Shiny, metallic, a skirt so short it's almost indecent; and boots, with heels so high even Kate is wondering if she could pull them off. Alexis makes a fantastic Super Girl.

Castle huffs and mumbles something about a _Silver Slasher_. She pats his cheek in condolence, and is thoroughly distracting him with her lips when the doorbell rings.

"Come on, Mulder," she says, "wipe off the panic face. She'll always be your baby-girl."

"That was _not_ my panic face," he informs her in a remarkable impression of Fox Mulder. She rolls her eyes and leads the way to the party.

Lanie is the first to arrive, Esposito a suspiciously short time later. If the shady timing of their arrival doesn't alert Kate to their apparently on-again relationship status, then their costumes certainly do. Jasmine and Aladdin, who do they think they are kidding? She tries to corner Lanie into confessing but the medical examiner, surely missing her calling as a detective, quickly turns the conversation around and into a discussion about "Writer-boy's seriously spectacular digs."

"Writer-man_,_" Kate corrects with a nod and a lusty moan of satisfaction in Castle's direction. "Definitely _Writer-man_, Lanie."

It soon degenerates into a giggly conversation involving high-fives and "You go, girls." It's only broken up when Esposito's offer to take Lanie for a magic carpet ride results in Kate choking on her drink, Castle over-exaggerating a gag at the thought.

Ryan and Jenny, naturally, are sickeningly adorable. Kevin makes a disturbingly skinny Fred but Jenny's Wilma is absolutely spectacular. Her barely there dress hugs her curves in all the right places and it doesn't surprise Kate when the two of them slip out of the party and toward the beach for a little alone time. She figures it's only a matter of time before a little Pebbles makes an appearance and she finds herself wanting it for them. A nagging voice in her head tells her that she might just want it for herself too. Of course, with Castle as a partner it's much more likely she'd be blessed – or cursed - with a Bamm-Bamm instead.

The Ryans are not the only ones making a beeline for the seclusion of the beach. As the party winds down, Martha takes over the hosting duties. She regales the crowd with show tunes and dirty jokes, all the while wearing a remarkably sexy, Cruella Deville costume. Castle though, is distracted, his eyes following Alexis as she tentatively reaches for Nick's hand.

"But Kate," he complains, as she leads him away from the guests and out to the balcony. "The boy is five years older than her."

"You're ten years older than me, Castle," she reminds him gently.

"But that's different. You're old."

Both eyebrows shoot up at the comment and he quickly backpedals, claims diarrhea of the mouth and an obvious brain disorder. She should feel sorry for him. Not kill him. Please don't kill him.

"What I mean is," he continues. "She's only nineteen, she's just a baby."

"When I was nineteen…" Kate trails off; she doesn't mean to start something. She doesn't want to think about when she was nineteen; certainly doesn't want to see the look of distraught worry that passes over his features with the mention of her Achilles' heel.

"Kate…" he breathed. "I'm sorry."

He shouldn't be apologizing, her response is a reflex. Nineteen will forever makes her think of the night her world forever changed. The night she lost her innocence. She should make it up to him.

"Come on," she smiles, leading him down the stairs. "Martha has this party under control. Let's go for a walk, Castle."

He takes her hand in his and she steers him away from where she sees Alexis leaning in and timidly kissing an adorably hesitant Nick Hamilton. The lighthouse is off in the distance, its long beam of light sweeping the ocean with yellow beams of light, at regular intervals. It calls to her.

They walk for miles, connected only by the tangling of their pinky fingers, stopping only when they reach a rocky bluff. The lighthouse sits atop the small cliff; its shadow in the moonlight, casting a long, dark line in the sand. He turns and pulls her into his side, wraps his arms around her waist and lowers them to the beach. She sinks back into his broad chest, sits between his thighs and looks out to the ocean. The sea is calm; the waves just a whisper in the cool night air. It's chilly on her bare legs. He runs his hands up and down her calves, warming her and at the same time calming her mind. As though he senses what she needs. Such small and yet meaningful things he does, to let her know how much he loves her. She runs her fingers through the sand, draws patterns in the grit, let the grains run through her fingers. It's peaceful here at the end of the shore.

She hears his soft breath as he nuzzles into her hair, feels the rumble of his voice down to her toes as he murmurs her name into the back of her neck. "Kate…"

"I love you," she says, suddenly needing him to hear it. She turns her head, aiming for his mouth but sloppily kissing his jaw instead.

"Me too," he chuckles, catching her chin in his hands and settling in to deepen the kiss. It's more about comfort than passion and she likes that he knows when to lay on the lust, when to simply offer his love.

She finds herself cradled in his lap, somewhat like a child; she wonders how he managed to maneuver her without her even realizing it. She doesn't mind though. She has no need for pretenses, or the rapidly eroding façade of Detective Kate Beckett, NYPD. When she's with him, Kate is enough.

"Tell me a story," she says, a need to hear his velvety voice, let it chase away the remnants of her melancholy.

He smiles and points to the lighthouse.

"Once upon a time there was a dashing young man and a lovely young woman..."

"No ghost stories?" she wonders. "It's Halloween."

She curses her uncooperative mouth, realizing he was probably going to tell her the story of his first kiss. Now he'll probably venture into the land of ghosts and ectoplasm. Proton packs. Lord, help her.

"Who says this isn't a tale of horror and sadness, Beckett? A little patience, if you will."

She motions for him to go on, she's learned her lesson. Mouth shut, Kate.

"As I was saying, boy meets girl." He looks at her as though he expects her to comment; she keeps her lips tightly closed and relaxes into his chest.

He continues, his voice a soft rumble, reverberating against the side of her skull. She smiles.

"The young man had inherited the lighthouse from his grandfather; but it was a relic from the past, nothing he was interested in. For he was a man of the city, what did he need with a derelict lighthouse? But, since it _was_ now in his name, the young man figured the least he could do was come up and scrutinize the place; check it out and see if any money could be made from a sale. What he hadn't counted on, was meeting Charlotte Flanagon."

She raises her head from the crook of his neck and eyes him suspiciously.

"What?" he says, "You didn't think I was going to tell you about Melissa and I did you?"

He winks and she huffs her annoyance before settling back against his chest.

"Go on then, lover boy. Wow me with your tale of misery and dread."

"Charlotte was a beautiful woman, with creamy, flawless skin and long flowing locks of curled copper."

"Verbose much, Castle?"

He chuckles and pokes her in the ribs.

"As I was saying, she was your stereotypical Irish lass; our man, William, was smitten. But Charlotte was a lost soul. Brought to America as a young girl by her widowed father, he was looking to start over. Charlotte though, missed her friends and family. She wanted to go home. William, having first laid eyes on her as she sat in this very spot, looking out to the ocean with such sadness in her eyes, had made it his mission to put a smile on her face."

Kate smiled and drew his hand to her mouth. William was starting to sound a lot like Castle. He had pegged her from the start. Immediately noticed the grief she carried and had made it his mission to lift her burden. She lets the pad of his thumb rest on her lips as he continues his tale, occasionally dotting it with soft grazes and touches of her tongue.

"For a long time, it went well. He courted her and captivated her with his charms, they made plans, got married and the future was bright. But still, as the years wore on and no children were born, Charlotte once again became melancholy. Occasionally, Charlotte would leave the main house, wander off to the lighthouse and be gone for hours. He would find her, looking out to the ocean with that same faraway look in her eyes, the same wistful expression from their very first meeting, and he would bring her back inside. He'd make love to her and promise her the moon. But nothing he did or said seemed to help; there was a part of Charlotte missing that his love couldn't fill."

Kate looks toward the lighthouse, across the waves and out into the ocean. She feels for Charlotte, but she feels even more for William. For Castle, and the four years he spent waiting for her to find what she was looking for. She swipes at her eyes, blames the mistiness on the whipping wind and salt in the air. He tucks he hair behind her ear and carries on.

"Eventually, William grew tired. Feeling cast-off, as though not good enough to make her happy, he stopped following her to the lighthouse late at night. He stopped bringing her back inside the warm house and left her to her own devices in the cold and dilapidated tower."

"This is turning into a very sad tale, Castle," she interjects, her voice a little husky.

"I told you Kate, horror and sadness. It's Halloween."

"You're supposed to be making me feel better."

"You _like_ murder and mayhem, a little mystery." He grins and feigns a surprised look. "Oops, spoiler alert."

She laughs, still amazed at his ability to so swiftly bring her out of a funk. "Just finish the damn story, Castle."

"Fine," he rolls his eyes, in a remarkable impression of well… herself. "It was a dark and stormy night…"

"Really? You're gonna go with that?"

Could the man be any more cliché?

"Well it was!"

"Sorry," she smirks, "Please. Continue."

"As I was saying, it was a dark and stormy night. Charlotte had once again wandered off to the lighthouse and William was exasperated. He had begged her to stay inside, told her it was dangerous to go out in such wild weather. He had planned a night in, with a cozy dinner by the fire; but his wife had again denied him, left him to go stare out at the ocean. After a few hours, when she didn't return, he became angry and instead of going out to collect her, he instead went to bed. He promised himself that if something didn't give, he was going to ask for a divorce. It was a big decision, this was the twenties after all, and you didn't just go and get a divorce. Still, he was resolute. Enough was enough."

"I don't blame the guy, really." Kate can't help but notice the parallels between this story and their own. She snuggles further into his lap, glad that though it took an almost fatal fall off a rooftop, she _had_ come to her senses.

"I don't know, he was a bit of an ass," Castle replies softly. The subtext lies heavy in the air and he wraps his arms a little tighter around her waist.

"Mm." They've had this conversation more than enough times. It will always be a sore spot, both of them carrying guilt about the events that led them to their new beginning. She wants to know the end of the story, hopes her non-committal grunt will spur him on. He takes the hint and doesn't push.

"The next morning, when William awoke, he was surprised to find that Charlotte hadn't returned to the house. Her side of the bed was cold, the sheets undisturbed. Bile rose in William's throat, that insidious and gut-wrenching dread that coils in your gut when you just _know_ that something isn't right. Charlotte _always _came back to bed. She would snuggle into his side, with whispered apologies and promises to try harder on her lips. He ran out of the house in nothing but his pajama bottoms, raced toward the lighthouse, slowed to a swaying stagger as he reached the base. There, pale and broken, lay the body of his wife. William was crushed. Soon though, it was decided that her death was a suicide; the whole town knew of her unhappy nature, it had seemed like an open and shut case."

"I gotta say, Castle. It does sound pretty open and shut."

"Well William, he never believed them. He insisted that Charlotte had been pushed. That while he would admit she was depressed, she would never end her own life. Whether driven by guilt or grief, and with nobody listening to his pleas to investigate, William eventually became a shut-in. He surrounded himself with her belongings, photographs and the sweater she had worn that fateful night. It became so bad that he had to hire a local boy by the name of Daniel to fetch his groceries and to keep him apprised of the village's happenings."

"Castle, while this is awfully sad, I'm not seeing a large and brightly lit sign, pointing to murder."

"Ah, but here's where the story gets interesting, Kate. Years passed, and William refused to leave the estate, he spent his nights up in the lighthouse, looking toward the ocean. He became known around town as someone to avoid, a legend that the local children feared. Every night, his silhouette was seen shadowed against the light of the tower, every morning he was seen shuffling back to the house where he would sleep the daylight hours away. Then, one morning, he was spotted running around the yard, flapping his arms and waving his hands. He was excited, loud… desperately crying, "I knew it, I knew it!"

"So, he finally cracked?"

"Hush woman, I'm almost to the best part. So there was William, apparently losing the plot; and Daniel, having learned from his time with the man, that while he _was_ depressed, he was _not _crazy, watching the whole spectacle. Daniel was worried, something wasn't right and William needed help. He rushed into town, found the local sheriff and told him what was going on at the old lighthouse. Reluctantly, the sheriff agreed to accompany Daniel back to the estate. The deputy had flat-out refused, even had the nerve to scoff at his superior and claim that a case of missing garden gnomes was more important than the daft old man in the lighthouse. The sheriff was inclined to agree and so didn't force his hand. When they arrived at the estate however…"

Castle pauses for dramatic effect, and Kate holds her breath. She has a pretty good idea what happened next but she doesn't mind letting him have his moment. His voice has soothed away the last fragments of her lingering sadness and his gentle touches have lulled her into almost sleepy compliance.

"William was dead," he finally breathes. "An apparent suicide from atop the lighthouse."

"Well, thank you, Castle," she smiles, stretching her legs and slowly rising from his lap. "Now I'm thoroughly depressed."

She wasn't though, and she knew from his grin that he knew as well.

"Oh come on, Kate," he whines. "Surely you're not buying that story. Obviously William was murdered, Charlotte too I'd bet."

"Because a crazy person _knew it_? Come on, Castle. That's thin. At best."

"So you picked up on that too?" he says, completely ignoring the part about it being thin and naturally latching on to the part where she had unknowingly agreed with the one oddity of the story.

"Crazy man, Castle."

"Odd sock, Kate."

"Well, what exactly would you like to do about it, Columbo?"

"We could investigate."

His eyes shine brightly, an eager and somewhat pleading grin, plastered on his face. Kate knows she is absolutely going to regret this, but as he hops from foot to foot in the sand and nervously runs his hands through his hair, as though expecting her to shoot him down, she can't help but say the one thing she just _knows_ is going to bite her in the ass.

"All right, Castle. We can take a look at it."

"Yes," he exclaims, "best girlfriend ever!"

She rolls her eyes, gasps in surprise as he picks her up and spins her in a circle. All the while he chants about how awesome she is.

"Strangest boyfriend ever," she mutters, as they start back towards the house.

* * *

**As a consolation for the wait, this was long. _Long_, long. Like... _three times_ longer than my usual update. I hope it was worth the wait and you guys are interested as to where I'm going with this. Forgive me? You should let me know. With a review. Because they are my pretties and I love them. Need them. Crave them. **

**Avi: Mewsels. That it all. *snort* I love you.**

**Nic: 'Bout bloody time you came up for air. Love you too.**


	9. Chapter 9

She's just about to remove the wig when he edges up behind her and wraps his arms around her waist.

"Leave it," he says, looking over her shoulder, at their reflections in the mirror.

"Castle, there is no way… none. Not gonna happen. I don't care what kind of X-Files fantasies you have swirling around in that head of yours." She tucks a strand of the overly processed, too-red hair, behind her ear.

"Even now," he breathes into her hair, his voice breathy. "As she pushed an errant strand of titian hair behind her ear, she worried her partner would know instinctively what she could only guess."

He's not. He can't be. Oh… but he is.

There aren't many things that Kate won't admit to. But this might be one. Katherine Beckett is a fan-girl. She's a child of the eighties, a teenager of the nineties. She grew up along with the internet. As Castle was writing his first bestseller, Kate was writing her first (and only) fan-fiction. Writing might not have been her thing, but Sundays spent curled up on the couch were. The last four years of tension between herself and Castle had been almost as excruciating as the epic story of Mulder and Scully. They may not have had to deal with aliens and vast government conspiracies, but their love, their partnership, was no less genuine. Her heart had fluttered as he uttered the overly intellectual, yet equally arousing, words.

She knows this monologue by heart.

"To be thought of as simply a beautiful woman was bridling, unthinkable." He traces his hand down her jaw, thumbs her lip and brushes the hair away from her neck; he places kisses along the smooth expanse of skin that he has exposed.

Oh god. This feels so wrong. He bites on her shoulder. So, _very,_ right.

"But she was beautiful..." he murmurs into her collarbone, catching her eye in the mirror. He winks and she drops her gaze. The man is too much.

He continues. "Fatally, stunningly prepossessing." He stills, lifts her chin to make eye contact in the mirror. He pulls off the hairpiece and runs his hands through her hair, gently pulling out the tangles. "Yet the compensatory respect she commanded only deepened the yearnings of her heart... to let it open, to let someone in."

He turns her in his arms then, lets his tongue touch and play at her lips. She opens her mouth to him, eager for his taste. She pulls at his tie and unknots it slowly, with trembling fingers, lets it float to the floor. "Kate," he hums into her mouth. It lets her know that while _this_ may be a fantasy of his, _she_ is still the center of his attentions.

She decides to play along. This is going to rock his world.

"All morning the stranger's unsolicited compliments had played on the dampened strings of her instrument," she grins and his eyes widen into large circles of surprise; lust and adoration.

"Until the middle "C" of consciousness was struck, square and resonant." She pops the buttons on his white cotton shirt and runs her palms down his broad chest, lets her nails run a lazy circle around a nipple. He looks like he's having trouble breathing. She shuffles him toward the bed, and he falls heavily into the mattress as the backs of his knees hit the edge.

"She was flattered," Kate grins. "His words had presented her a pretty picture of herself, quite unlike the practiced mask of uprightness that mirrored back to her from the medical examiners and the investigators and all the lawmen who dared no such utterances."

The long and rambling sentence gives him time to recover. As she reaches down to unbuckle his belt, he grasps her wrists and pulls her down onto the mattress. She lands with a thud on his chest and he lets out an, "oomph" of surprise.

As she's catching her breath, he takes controls and flips her onto her back, covers her with his body. He runs his hands down her sides, nails raking over her ribs and down her torso.

"She felt an involuntary flush," he says, emphasizing _flush _with a carefully timed brush of his thumb against her crotch. "And rebuked herself for the girlish indulgence."

He torments her with his hands, trailing along her thighs and back up again. Her hips rise to meet him and he smirks with every upsurge. Finally he concentrates on where she wants it most, he pulls and he probes, teases and tweaks; continues his speech in a low and erotic voice.

"But the images came perforce and she lets them play- lets them flood in like savory- or more a sugary confection- from her adolescence, when her senses were new and ungoverned by fear and self-denial."

That these flowery words have such an effect on her might otherwise cause her embarrassment. However, he watches her with such careful veneration, such love and awe; she feels no shame.

"'Ache,' 'pang,' 'prick,' 'twinge'" he says, causing all those sensations and more; with every precise nip and languid swirl of his tongue, as he divests her of her clothing and shucks his own.

They rise and sink into the soft mattress, bodies melding. Sweat, slick and warm, both holds them together and pushes them apart. Hands grasp and release, tongues clash for dominance. She manages to flip him over and regain the upper hand. She's not finished with him yet.

"How ironic, the Victorian vocabulary of behavioral pathology now so perfectly described the palpations of her own desire. The stranger had looked her in the eye and knew her more completely than she knew herself," she quotes solemnly. His eyes darken, he understands. She leans in for a soft kiss, grins against his mouth as it deepens. They both know what comes next.

"She felt wild," Kate hums, as she aligns their bodies and rubs his tip along her slick entrance. "Feral," she purrs, just slightly lowering herself onto him. "Guilty as a criminal," she growls, as she fully skewers herself upon his erection.

She sets a tranquil rhythm, teasing him and enjoying the feeling of his just… being there. Inside of her, under her, the soft touch of his hands on her hips. He is patient and watches her with a relaxed smile on his face, his hips are still and his eyes are gentle but bright in the soft light of the bedroom.

"Had the stranger unleashed in her what was already there?" she says, rocking her hips and leaning forward onto his chest. The angle offers Kate shallow, but more isolated, sensation and she groans as she feels the tension rising to the surface. "Or only helped her discover a landscape that she, by necessity, blinded herself to?" she grunts out, struggling to maintain control.

"What would her partner think of her?" she squeaks into his ear as he finally bucks his hips in response.

He laughs, obviously amused that he has ruined her long and well recited monologue with a single thrust. She pulls up, sits back on his hips and gives him a raised brow, a valid attempt at a scowl. Scully would be proud.

"But if she'd predictably aroused her sly partner's suspicions," he says, reaching between them and smirking as his fingers play where their bodies join. "Special Agent Dana Scully had herself become..." He glances his thumb about her clit, expertly back and forth, in a steady rhythm; the way she has taught him, until she is crying out above him.

"Simply aroused," he chokes out, as his own orgasm overtakes him.

She collapses onto his chest, breathing heavily and thoroughly satisfied. Her limbs feel heavy and limp. She has almost dozed off when he gently slips from inside her and smoothly moves them to a less delicate position on the bed. She groans in protest but is glad for his forethought as her head hits the downy pillow. He pulls a sheet over their cooling bodies, hooks an arm around her waist and pulls her in close.

"G'night Mulder," she whispers, a final word. A smug smile on her lips as she fast drifts into dreams.

"In my book, I'd written that Agent Scully falls in love, but that's obviously impossible." He hushes into her ear.

"Agent Scully is already in love," she mumbles and he buries his head into her neck.

* * *

**I have no words for this chapter or how it came to be. So I'll let Avi's response be my author notes.**

**"Avi sits on her bench outside. The gentle breeze accompanying her voice as she reads timidly the words on the document. In any other moment, clarity and prudence would have stopped her from allowing her partner to indulge in this pleasure."**

**"But she couldn't stop herself, let alone stop her other half from allowing them to create this alternate scenario. It felt wrong, but oh so right.**  
**She had read the first sentence, and imagined that the original bard would have found himself wanting to entertain these words on paper as well. The visuals on screen. The imagery would have played in his head as he allowed himself to let these characters roam free. Unfortunately for him, he could only go as far as what the universe of these characters would allow. **  
**Right now though, through her partners words, there weren't any limitations when it came to let the bard's words to come to play thru someone else's lips. Spoken by characters that profess reverence to him in some way, they have their own lust filled fantasies of what they imagine could had been to be the first ones to feel these words. To let themselves be drawn into the spiral of disguised want and finally honor his wishes in the most rebellious homage."**


	10. Chapter 10

Kate wakes, opening her eyes slowly and slinging an arm over her face. She stretches out her limbs, curls her toes. She lets out a soft yawn and squints as the drapes sway in the breeze and send an unforgiving beam of morning sun directly to her eyes. The house seems quiet. The only sound is Castle, breathing softly beside her. She can detect none of the other morning clatters, and hums, that she has grown used to over the past few months. She has all but moved in with the Castle clan and finds that on the rare occasions she spends a night alone at her own apartment, the silence is deafening.

Waking up at the loft is an experience. There is the intermittent blare and silencing of a screeching alarm clock, as Martha valiantly struggles to become a morning person. The snooze button takes a beating from the diva, sometimes taking her a good two hours. But she always manages to make it to the acting school before it opens for the day. Kate admires the way Martha has taken on the project, such dedication and pride in her work. She realizes that for all her drama, this is where Castle gets his own drive from. And there's the slam of the front door as Alexis rushes into the loft and bounds up the stairs. Having not quite moved out, she always needs one thing or another from her room before the start of class. The second slam as she exits a few minutes later. Not that Kate minds; Alexis always starts coffee on her way back out the door. Thank god the Castle's do coffee.

Kate has grown used to the sounds of a family, and the current stretch of silence makes her somewhat uneasy. It reminds her of when she didn't belong to one.

She eases herself out of the bed, not wanting to wake Castle but needing to get up; do something. She pads to the bathroom, smiles at her reflection in the mirror. She is a mess. Castle's stubble has done a number on her jawline, it's all pink and blotchy; there will be no denying what they've been up to. As she brushes her teeth, she grins around the foamy bubbles, almost chokes on a laugh that rises to the surface. Martha will most definitely have something to say. She grabs a hair tie from the counter and wrestles her mane into a presentable bun at the nape of her neck. There's a hickey below her left earlobe. She's going to kill him. That's twice he's marked her; in less than a week. If he doesn't watch it, she's gonna do some marking of her own. Maybe use teeth.

She finishes up in the bathroom, throws on some shorts and a tank, and makes her way upstairs. She expects to see a mess. When they had returned from the walk last night, the party had already wound down. Martha had boisterously greeted them; assured them they weren't missed and then stumbled towards her room with a wave and a heart-stopping stumble down the stairs. "All's well, darlings," she'd called with a laugh, as Castle released a vice grip on Kate's arm and recovered his breathing. Alexis had been asleep on the couch. "Leave it," he'd said, when she'd made an attempt to pick up a few things. It hadn't taken much persuasion with his mouth on her neck and his hands roaming her body.

Somehow, in the last six hours, the place has transformed back into the airy and bright beach house.

"Alexis?" Kate calls, noticing the empty couch and wondering where she could be. She'd noticed Alexis's empty room on the way past. But there's no answer. Still, Kate's sure that Alexis is responsible for the transformation and, still needing something to keep herself occupied, Kate decides she'll make breakfast as a thank you. She's sure to show up sooner or later.

Kate sets about making the meal, frying bacon and cutting up fruit. She pops a piece of watermelon in her mouth as she cracks an egg one-handed. She stills, smiles to herself at the realization; her mom taught her how to do that. It had taken two dozen eggs and they'd eaten quiche for a week. She notices these things now. Letting go of the quest for justice had allowed Kate to truly remember her Mom as more than just a slumped form in the dirty alleyway. She will never be able to repay Castle for helping her come to this point.

The smell of bacon burning breaks Kate out of her reverie. She curses and hears a low chuckle as Alexis steps in the door from the patio.

"Hey, Alexis," Kate grins, and the girl ducks her head, a blush forming on her cheeks. She makes her way over to the counter to join Kate. Her pace is slow and measured. Kate can tell something is wrong.

"Hey…" Alexis murmurs, almost too soft for Kate to register.

She's instantly worried. Even when their relationship had been at its worst, Alexis had made an effort to at least _sound _happy. Albeit somewhat forced at times. But now, Alexis sounds shaky, unsure. Not her usual bubbly self. Kate turns down the heat on the bacon, tosses the unrecoverable pieces in the trash and set some new ones in the pan.

Alexis fidgets. Shifts from foot to foot, her eyes darting around the room, anywhere but in the direction of Kate.

"You hungry?" Kate tries. It's neutral.

She gets no reply.

"Come on," says Kate, ushering the girl to the other side of the island and sitting her at a stool.

Alexis fidgets with a napkin, shreds it into long, even pieces. Lays them out like soldiers in a row. Kate feels completely out of her element and awkward, just standing, and watching this show of anxiety.

"You did this?" Kate asks, motioning toward the great room, implying the cleaned house.

"Oh... yeah. It was nothing," Alexis mumbles.

Kate squeezes her bicep, "It's not nothing, thank you."

Alexis, shrugs, sighs and scrunches the shredded napkin into the ball.

"You wanna talk about it" she asks as she takes a seat beside Alexis.

Alexis hesitates. "Yes?..No." She sighs again. "Maybe?"

Whatever this is, it's big. A knot of dread coils in Kate's stomach.

Kate waits, palming her coffee mug, she rises and brings Alexis a cup. The girl still doesn't make eye contact. They sit in silence for a few minutes, the smell of bacon permeating the air, the sizzle and crack doing nothing to ease the tension. Kate's at a loss. Parenting has never been her thing; it's never had to be. And while she would love to run to the bedroom, wake up Castle and tell him to go fix his daughter, Kate sees this as the opportunity that it is. If she manages to ease some of the tension that is boiling within his daughter's apparently fragile state of mind, perhaps she can strengthen the friendship they have been slowly forging over the last few months. Kate and her mom had always talked while cooking, be it celebrity gossip or school, boys. Perhaps it's something she can share with Alexis.

"Alright," says Kate with an air of confidence she doesn't really feel. The routine might help to bring her out of this daze. The mundane tasks of chopping and slicing, measuring and weighing, had always served to break the ice when Kate and her mom had been at odds. "Help me finish making this breakfast."

"Yeah," Alexis breathes and they both return to the other side of the island.

"So I was thinking Denver omelets. You wanna cut up some onion for me?"

"Sure," Alexis says, with a little light peppered into her voice.

Kate roughly chops a bell pepper, she bumps elbows with Alexis and the girl smiles, bites her lip as her eyes travel to the hickey on Kate's neck. Interesting. She wonders if Nick is the cause of the sudden arrival of upset in the teen. Kate self-consciously rubs at the mark, feels a blush forming. She gives Alexis a wry grin. It's not the first time the girl's dad has left evidence on her body. Not the first time Alexis has noticed.

"Men," Kate groans.

"Yeah… men." Alexis says, raising the curtain of red hair and showing off a similar mark at the back of her neck.

Kate chuckles and rolls her eyes, dumps the peppers in a bowl as Alexis does the same with the onion.

"What's next?" she asks.

"Milk and eggs," Kate replies, turning to the fridge to get the milk. "Can you turn the bacon for me?"

Alexis nods with a smile. Her posture has eased, her breathing is becoming less shallow. They work side by side, make a good team. Alexis pours juice into glasses and Kate cracks the eggs.

"That's really cool," Alexis says with enthusiasm and Kate raises an eyebrow in momentary confusion.

"The egg thing?"

"Yeah, I've always wondered how to do that."

Huh. She would have thought that would be right up Castle's alley; a little showmanship while cooking.

"Here, let me show you," says Kate.

She shows her how to hold the egg, thumb and first finger holding on one end, second and third pressing the egg against the heel of her palm. She taps the egg against the pan, explaining to Alexis that the key is to make sure that the point of impact is between her thumb and first finger. Kate eases apart the egg, keeps her thumb and index finger stationary.

"And, Voila!" she says, as the egg slides into the waiting bowl.

"Doesn't look too tricky," Alexis replies.

"Nope, you do the rest," Kate replies. "I'll go rummage for some parsley."

She hears the crack of an egg, a snort of laughter form Alexis. As she returns to the counter with a jar of dried parsley in hand, Alexis breaks another egg into the bowl. This time the teen lets out a frustrated grunt. A third attempt, with no better results, and the girl chokes on a sob.

"Hey... Alexis. Hey…" Kate pulls the girl into her arms. Alexis releases a heaving shudder and begins sobbing into her shoulder. "Hey, shh…" Kate says into her hair. "What is it?"

"I slept with him." She utters.

"Oh."

Can she go and wake up Rick now? Would that be wrong? Because Kate has a feeling she's in way over her head.

But she can't bring herself to do that. She remembers being this age, being young and overwhelmed by new and exciting feelings; being terrified and thrilled all at once. Kate can only imagine that for Alexis, it's magnified. She's a perfectionist, the good girl, she's - for all intents and purposes - motherless. Castle is a great dad, but Kate gets the feeling this may be the one subject where he might fall short. She needs to do this because she's all Alexis has right now. Her grandmother, loving and open-minded as she is, cannot be a better option. Grandmother, after all. And Castle… will overreact. He won't be able to help it and she's already promised to look into one murder. Two will take more than a weekend and she can only imagine the paperwork if Castle were to murder his daughter's boyfriend.

Kate turns off the stove and ushers Alexis towards the balcony. "Come on… outside. Your Dad doesn't need to walk in on this."

They each take a chair; and sit side by side looking out toward the water. Kate's at a loss at what to say so she remains quiet and waits for Alexis to start. She pulls her legs up, tucks her knees under her chin, and with a glance, realizes Alexis has done the same. She drops a hand to the side, offering it to Alexis if she wants it. The girl immediately grasps her hand and twines their fingers together.

Kate's heart flutters in her chest. She has always liked Alexis; but she knows now that somewhere along the way, she not only fell in love with Richard Castle, she also fell in love with his daughter.

"I just... this is me... and I... How do people _do_ this?"

_This_ this? No, it can't be _that._ She's pretty sure Castle at least covered those bases. She remembers him panicking and asking for her doctor's name a few years ago. So… relationships? God. She still hasn't quite figured that one out herself.

Alexis continues. "This is not me, I just feel like I'm another person right now and... how did I decide that this was a good thing to do? Because I knew when he kissed me that it was different but... like..."

She sighs. And Kate smiles. She may not be very good at relationships but she can tell when someone is falling in love.

"How did you decide to let go of whatever held you back and just… go for it?"

Ah. Time for a little give and take. Alexis has placed her trust squarely in her lap. She can do this.

"If you're talking about before… when I was your age…. Alexis I was a mess. It hardly compares. I made a lot of mistakes. A lot." She gives Alexis a meaningful look, a grimace of distaste. "But somehow, I don't think that's what you're really asking. I don't believe you'd make those kinds of lapses in judgment. No matter how carried away by the moment you were."

Alexis's eyes widen and her shoulders slump a little in relief. As though Kate has given her a benediction or some kind of absolution. This is good; the girl doesn't need to be burdened by guilt. Not when she looks like, if given the chance to forgive herself for whatever perceived wrong she has done, she might be left with a very positive experience. Kate continues.

"If you're talking about me and your Dad…"

Alexis bites her lip and nods.

Jesus. How does she explain how utterly… fucked up… her psyche was. How she was ready to jump into bed with Rick the minute she met him. How she'd always known they would and yet couldn't allow herself to. How her situation and Alexis's are so very different. And yet the love… well maybe that's the same. That lingering excitement, that sudden awakening of senses, which had her head over heels since she'd first had Castle's warmth surrounding her... she knows that feeling. She knows what Alexis is feeling. It's not exactly love, but an equally wonderful emotion.

Kate turns so she's facing Alexis. The girl looks her in the eyes and Kate sees nothing but curiosity, respect, trust, maybe… love? Definitely affection. So, with a deep breath, she tells Alexis all of it.

For a second she thinks that she might be overstepping a line with her honesty. What if Castle doesn't want her sharing this with his daughter? But she owns this experience. It's hers to tell. It's something Castle couldn't understand. The pressure to be perfect, especially in these matters, for men, just isn't the same.

"It was really good," Alexis suddenly blurts as Kate finishes and her face carries a look of wonder. Awe and pure happiness.

As though… Oh. Well, that's unexpected. Most teen's these days... But then, Alexis isn't most teens. Tread lightly, Kate.

"It's supposed to be good," Kate starts. "What I mean is…"

God, this is awkward. "Is this your first time, Alexis?"

The girl blushes and shakes her head. "Ash and I… once, before he left. It was… let's just say I enjoyed the snuggling afterwards."

Kate laughs, part relief, part nervous energy needing to be burned off.

"Oh god," Kate laughs and stands up. Alexis giggles too. "Yeah, the first time's supposed to be bad too."

Alexis jumps up and tackles Kate for an all-encompassing hug. She squeezes what air is left, after the laughter, out of Kate's diaphragm, and Kate wonders if she might pass out. She doesn't care though because this feels _good. _She's helped Alexis today. And it just feels so… good. To be part of this, to have witnessed this. She's not ready to think of Alexis as her daughter, but in this split second she knows that she just had the privilege of seeing a transformation, of seeing Alexis take a step into a stage of her life that she once had to navigate alone. Maybe she's just glad that she was here to hold her hand and offer support. Something that as a young woman she had so desperately wanted. Needed.

When she told Castle, "I just want you," she knew she was signing up for a thousand new experiences; for a family and all that comes with that honor. She never realized that she would be so privileged as to be a part of the one she had just shared with Alexis.

"Come on," she says, when she finally releases Kate. "Let's go save breakfast and wake up Dad."

* * *

**Well. That was completely unexpected. And rather lovely if I do say so myself. **

**_Extra_ special thanks to Avi this time. She was seriously prodding me in all the right directions with this one. **

**It's 4am, I think that deserves a little something, something. I accept cookies and unmarked non-sequential bills. Reviews work too. ;)**


	11. Chapter 11

He wakes alone, reaches over out of habit, a slight hope in his heart. But her side of the bed is cold, long vacated. It doesn't surprise him. Of course he'd hoped that 'Vacation-Kate' might be one to stay in bed, but it's rare he gets to enjoy an early-morning snuggle. He pulls her pillow to his chest, rolls over onto it and breathes in. He doesn't mind that she rises before him; her scent lingering on his pillows is enough. She's not one to delay the day. Years of early rising for work, of getting up in the middle of the night for body drops, have conditioned her to start fast. He imagines she's upstairs, sipping coffee and reading the paper. Tapping her foot and chewing on a pencil, waiting on him to roll his ass out of bed.

With a smile at the thought, he rises and stumbles to the bathroom. He scrapes his nails through his hair, his smile turning to a grin when he looks in the mirror. The red, puckered imprint of her lips greets him. This is why he doesn't mind that she's not into prolonged cuddling and lazy days spent in bed. Things like this remind him that she's more than the tight-laced and serious detective; that at heart she is playful, and mindful of his feelings.

She's independent, struggles to show her emotions, every move is calculated and well thought out. He's needy, puts his feelings on full display, frequently shoving a foot into his mouth in the process. He shows his love in hugs and kisses, his words for the entire world to see. She shows hers in small gestures and secret smiles, whispered admissions under the cover of darkness. It doesn't mean she loves him any less fiercely.

With a final glace to the waxy smear on the mirror, he bounds up the stairs, expecting to find her in the kitchen.

"Kate," he calls as he reaches the top of the stairs.

The living room is empty and a glance toward the kitchen reveals a meal, mid-preparation. Confused, he turns toward the study, maybe she was sidetracked by a good book. It's happened before. But he finds that room vacant as well. It's when he turns back to the great room and starts to scan the horizon, thinking that maybe she's gone for a run, that he sees them.

Alexis and Kate are sitting on the Adirondack chairs, facing each other and deep in conversation. Alexis has been crying, he can tell by the red blotches on her cheeks. Kate looks concerned but sympathetic, their hands are linked and an occasional wry grin escapes her lips. Whatever she is telling his daughter is serious and it takes everything within him not to rush outside and try to repair whatever is wrong with Alexis.

He tells himself that Kate has it covered. He trusts her judgment after all; on more than one occasion it's been Kate that has given him the right advice regarding his teenaged daughter. Still, as he pours himself a cup of coffee and resumes cooking the halted breakfast, he can't help but to feel uneasy to be left out of whatever is bothering his girl.

His head snaps up as they reenter the house. They are both smiling and share a look he can't quite decipher; a grin, raised eyebrows, something else.

Alexis mumbles a quiet, "Hey Dad," before quickly retreating downstairs.

"What's the matter?" he questions as soon as she reaches his side, ignoring the kiss she places on his cheek in greeting.

"Good morning to you too, Castle."

She grins but he thinks he hears a spark of irritation in her voice. Yeah, it's not his best greeting ever. Today was supposed to be the day everybody went home, the day the real vacation started. He intends to make it up to her. He'll start with an apology.

"Sorry," he says, backing her against the counter and greeting her properly, with tongue. "Good morning, beautiful."

"Mm, it is now," she agrees, snagging a piece of bacon before he can chop it up and add it to an omelet.

She takes the coffee he pours her, chews on the bacon, somehow making it sexy. She sits at the bar and sips on the beverage, smiles over the rim as he prepares breakfast. She sets the cup down and leans across the counter, elbows bent, hands resting on her chin. It provides him ample view of her cleavage. The hint of tongue peeking out from between her teeth as she smiles tells him she knows exactly what she's doing to him. He lays a plate in front of her with a dramatic flair.

"Breakfast is served," he declares, and she rolls her eyes. He makes his own plate and turns off the stove. She hums as she takes her first bite, the sound erotic and entirely too sensual for simply eggs. Noises like that should be reserved for chocolate dipped fruit or… Mm, apple pie.

"Alexis and I prepared it, you know. I'd hardly be so smug if I were you."

Immediately, he deflates. Alexis. His baby girl who has been crying. He wants to probe, but Kate has avoided the subject; he suspects the look the two women had shared is the reason. He wants to ask, but he doesn't because he can still taste her on his lips and the smug grin she's wearing is adorable. His stomach rumbles and he pushes his worry to the back of his mind. Breakfast is ready, he should eat. Surely Kate would tell him if it was something awful.

"I've seen how you make an omelet, Kate," he smirks as he sits beside her at the bar.

She gives him a sardonic grin. While Kate is a fantastic cook, in general, her omelet making skills leave a lot to be desired. Sloppy and scrambled is the usual end product.

"Shut up," she laughs around a mouthful of perfectly formed omelet.

He grins and takes a bite. It's delicious; they make a good team, even in the kitchen. He bumps her elbow, she chuckles and he contents himself to watch her, as she observes the view.

They eat in companionable silence for a few minutes, happy and content. But the fear is still there, bubbling under the surface, steadily rising with none of their usual tête-à-tête to fill the quiet. Something is wrong with Alexis and as her father he feels like he has a right to know what it is. He stuffs the omelet in his mouth, chews, swallows; he doesn't taste it anymore. He tastes bile, as fear for his daughter forms a lump in his throat. He lets his fingers graze her knuckles, watches as she gazes out toward the ocean, deep in thought. A satisfied smile graces her appearance; he knows he's at least partially responsible for the serene visage and the relaxed posture. This trip has, so far, been perfect; he has to ask her though. He's about to wipe that smile off her face, set tension in her shoulders, wrinkle her brow in frustration. He knows it. But he can't help it. It's Alexis.

"So…" He clears his throat and she gives him a look that clearly says, _don't ask._

He does anyway. "Is Alexis okay?"

She sighs and turns on the stool, faces him and grips both his hands in her own. Her expression is serious but her voice is soft, her eyes gentle. "She's fine, Castle."

It's finite, Kate's resolute. Whatever she and Alexis were talking about, apparently it has been deemed that he isn't allowed to know. It irritates the hell out of him. She watches him, strokes her thumb over his wrist in a soothing manner, like she knows. Her eyes are pleading, pleading with him to trust her. And he does. It's just… god. He knows he's over-reacting, reacting as a papa bear and not as the cool dad. But Alexis is growing up and he feels like he's losing her.

"She's fine," Kate repeats calmly.

He nods. She's not upset at him for prying, not hurt that it must appear he doesn't have confidence in her. Kate is simply trying to reassure him without breaking his daughters trust. He's an ass. Alexis is fine. He repeats it to himself a few times, a mantra. Until the panic subsides and he can accept this for what it is.

And what it is… is rather astonishing. Alexis trusts Kate with her secrets and that… is huge. A year ago, he's pretty sure his daughter would have liked nothing more than to never see Kate again. He lets that thought take over, lets it marinate. Alexis trusts Kate.

"She trusts you," he says, the smile forming on his face.

She grins and ducks her head, shy, yet the trace of pride on her pursed lips.

"Kate, this is huge," he cries, jumping up from the bar and pulling her along with him. He pulls her into a rough hug and she laughs loudly as he squeezes her and rocks them side to side.

"Come on," he says, dragging her toward the stairs.

He needs to hold on to this mood, this feeling of joy because his daughter and his partner are finally getting along; getting along so well that they apparently keep secrets from him now. Ugh! And there it is again. He shakes his head to clear his mind. He will not ruin this day because he can't handle his baby girl growing up.

"Where are we going?" she asks coyly as they reach the bottom of the flight of stairs. She wears a smirk as though she expects sex. But he's got other things on his mind. It's shocking, but still… he's kind of sore from last night.

"To investigate a double murder," he cries. If the happiness is a tad forced, he doesn't think it shows.

She rolls her eyes, seems a little disappointed that they won't be starting the morning with a little action. "I feel like I should worry that these things make you so happy, Castle."

He huffs and trots ahead to find clothes for the day. She watches from the bed as he dresses, a small smile playing at her lips. He likes this, could get used to lazy mornings with nowhere important to go, no body drops or publisher's meetings, the quiet sense of peace surrounding them. They should come up here more often.

* * *

They try the local PD first. The sheriff is less than helpful and acts as though their mere presence in his small station is an irritation.

It's not like the man has anything else to do, Castle thinks. The phones are quiet and the office is impeccable. A giant orange cat greeted them at the door, barely lifting its head in greeting before rolling over onto its back and stretching its body to full length. There are no piles of unfinished paperwork or belligerent drunks, like at the Twelfth. It smells like lavender and lemons instead of sweat and burnt coffee.

"Look, Mr. Castle," he drawls, a slight sneer mixed with a fair amount of scorn transforms his plain features to something a little ugly. "We don't need some Jessica Fletcher wannabe up here disturbing things that have long been put to rest. It's just a story. And not a very good one at that."

Kate bristles beside him and he can't help but feel a little pride. A few years ago if someone had accused him of being the fabled author slash investigator she would have snorted with laughter and wholeheartedly agreed.

"It is the way _I_ tell it," Castle mutters under his breath. Kate shoots him a look that clearly states, "_shut up". _

"Mr. Hollander," she says, deliberately disregarding the officer's title and cutting Castle off before his mouth can get them into trouble. "My name's Kate Beckett, Detective Kate Beckett with the NYPD. I can assure you that Mr. Castle and I are not here to cause you any trouble. While I will admit the case for murder is thin, I do believe there is cause to at least look into it. Besides, what harm can it do?"

Castle withholds a smug grin as Kate stands with one hand on her hip, the other extended for a handshake. The sheriff doesn't reciprocate the gesture and an expectant glare forms on her face. When the sheriff makes no move to respond, she continues.

"I don't believe there is a statute of limitations on murder,_ Sheriff_ Hollander."

Oh, nice one Kate! He gives her a mental high-five for pulling out his rank at just the right moment.

The sheriff raises an eyebrow and his lip curls into a disgusted grimace. But either the mention of his job description or simply the downright scary Beckett-scowl she's wearing does something to get the man moving because after a protracted show of huffing, puffing and rearranging files on the desk, he strolls into what looks to be a room only slightly larger than a storage closet. They hear grunts and sighs, the heavy clang of filing cabinet drawers opening and shutting. Finally, the sheriff reappears with an old, yellowed folder. He lets it flop onto the desk dismissively.

"It's not much," he says. "But you're welcome to waste your time."

Castle makes a move to open the file; he can't wait to see its contents. He imagines what he will find inside; doctors reports and police statements, maybe pictures, if they are lucky. Huh… Kate may have a point. He shouldn't be this excited to see pictures of a murder victim. God knows what a therapist would have to say about this part of him. His fingers brush along the edge of the folder, a reverent gesture before diving in.

"Not here," the sheriff states. It broaches no arguments. Spoil-sport.

"We can take this then?" he asks, a little unsure that this is exactly kosher.

"Mr. Castle," he says, apparently reaching his last rope with the duo, judging by the long sigh and the heavy way in which he falls to his desk chair. "This case is cold. About fifty years cold. I can assure you, no one will miss it. Just return it when you are done with it and get out of my hair."

Castle lets out a soft snort. The man is as bald as a newborn. He's about to retort, the comment is on the tip of his tongue, when he feels her fingers on his wrist.

"Come on, Castle," says Kate, tugging on his arm and angling them towards the door.

He grabs the folder and hurries to her side. He'd like to give this man a piece of his mind, remind him of police procedure and the wisdom of letting files leave the department. But then he remembers he's not actually a police officer himself, it might be frowned upon and he's got what he came for. Better to quit while he's ahead.

* * *

"I can't believe that guy implied I was some kind of half-assed Jessica Fletcher," he cries indignantly as they walk down the street and towards the public library. He's pacing ahead of her, riled up and apparently needing to blow off some steam.

She bites on her lip and tries to stifle a grin. It's crossed her mind more than a few times that his life bears a strikingly similar resemblance to the fictional author. Kate eyes his rear end as he paces up the library stairs; shorts, a rarely worn treat, offer her a delightful view of his strong thighs and taut ass. Mm, thank god the resemblance isn't corporal. She loves the man, his brilliant mind and loving heart, but there's no denying his rugged good looks and surprisingly well toned body plays a part in her affections. Kate doubts she would have let an elderly lady, with a penchant for skirt suits and colorful 'kerchiefs, follow her around for four years.

She lets out a soft snort at the mental picture; he turns and gives her a quirked eyebrow, huffs when he spies her smirk and enters the library ahead of her. He holds open the door for her of course; always the gentleman, even when she's bruising his ego.

"Oh come on, Castle," she says, as she brushes past him and pecks his cheek. "It _was_ kind of funny."

"Do I look like a meddling old lady to you, Miss Beckett?" he says, crowding behind her, spinning her around and pushing her up against a tall column. He certainly doesn't _feel_ like an old lady. She wraps her arms behind herself, holds on to the column as he presses himself up against her and nibbles on her jaw.

"No," she croaks out. "Definitely all man."

"That's what I thought," he gruffly says into her neck.

A soft throat clearing from somewhere to her left, quickly breaks the moment. An elderly woman sitting at an even older looking desk pointedly stares in their direction. With a self-conscious smile and a small shake of her head, Kate removes her tongue from his shoulder. With twinkling eyes, he backs up and allows her to wander ahead of him, toward the periodicals section - if you could call it that. Really it is two large filing cabinets, pushed together in a corner, a hand painted sign above.

The library is small and cluttered, housed in a building that was once a small community church. Row upon row of shelves mark where the pews once sat, colorful posters that Kate imagines were painted by local students, mark the different sections.

"Castle, look through that file would you," she says as she trails her hands over a row of well-worn hardcovers. "Find the exact dates of their deaths so we can find the relevant newspapers."

He does as she instructed and she hears him rummaging through the filing cabinets as she wanders down an aisle marked as fiction. For Kate, there's something calming about being in a library. Whether it's the airy, open halls of the New York Public Library or the nooks and crannies of this quaint little book depository, the effect is the same. The musty yet pleasing aroma of books, old and new, permeates her surroundings; cool recirculated air, the enduring scent of vanilla and leather, plastic and ink. She feels serene and forgets for a moment why they are there. The crinkled, red spine of a _Sherlock Holmes_ anthology calls to Kate, her fingers linger a while, tracing the gold lettering. It's been years since she read them. She smiles at the thought of the barely restrained jealousy, which Castle would be hard-pressed not to display, if he caught her caressing Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.

"Oh, Kate, I found them!" she hears, followed by his heavy footsteps, buffered by the aged and mismatched, oriental rugs that cover the floors. Before she is quite back to her senses, he is pulling her towards an old oak table and excitably urging her to dive in to the case with him. She lands with something of a thud in the cold and wobbly chair, wincing as her tail bone connects with the hard surface.

Slightly annoyed by the abrupt departure from her happy reverie she snaps at him, "You know what, Castle. Jessica Fletcher may not be so far from the truth."

"What's that supposed to mean?" he asks, looking hurt and insulted.

Crap. He's upset. It wasn't supposed to come out so harsh. But her ass hurts and he surprised her. The truth right? They had agreed not to let things fester. No time like the present. Strike while the iron is hot. In for a penny, in for a pound.

Oh, quit procrastinating and just let him have it, Kate.

"It's just that sometimes, Castle," she sighs. "Sometimes… your insatiable need to know everything is a little over the top. Sometimes it's…" She stands up and run her hands through her hair, rubs a palm over her still throbbing coccyx. "Jarring," she finishes. His eyes flash with something she can't quite grasp, he looks hurt and maybe a little wary.

He's quiet. Too quiet, because they've had similar conversations before and it's never ended in an awkward silence, not the likes of what's going on now. She feels his eyes on her back but she can't bring herself to turn around just yet. Not until she has a handle on whatever it is that's going on, what's gotten him so defensive. Why he's holding back and not giving as good as he gets.

Castle knows his eager puppy routine sometimes gets on her nerves, he's known that for years. He used to use it just to get a rise out of her, to make her snap at him, so he could offer his best little-boy grin and wheedle an amused smile out of her. She's always forgiven him quickly, most recently with a pardoning press of lips. So why is he suddenly so wounded looking?

"Not everything," she hears him mutter from behind her.

She turns then, looks him in the eye. He doesn't look particularly angry, he looks… sad and hurt. What is he talking about? She's always pushing his buttons and calling him a man-child.

"Castle, help me out here… please."

He turns away, the rise and fall of his shoulders evidence of his attempt to pull himself back together; deep breaths. She wishes that she too could suck in a little more air; her breathing is shallow, her airways feeling narrow and thin. She touches the pads of her fingers to her chin, feels it tremble. Her vision swims a little and she realizes that she is about to cry, that she can't even pinpoint why. This is ridiculous. She takes a long and shuddering breath; it sounds loud in the cold silence of the empty library. She blinks rapidly to clear the blur and swipes at her eyes.

He turns at the sound. She watches as he composes his features, his eyes softening a fraction as he rises and comes to her side.

"Come on," he says. "Let's just go home."

She'd thought they were done with this dance. Side stepping the truth and weaving away from uncomfortable conversations had been a thing of the past. Had been. Apparently she missed the part where he once again put on his dancing shoes. This isn't the time or the place for confrontations though.

She nods her head in agreement and leads the way out onto the street. When she reaches her hand back for his, a gesture that has become as routine as placing the next foot in front of the other, she finds nothing but air. He's still standing up on the steps, a distant and sad look in his eyes. Suddenly, she feels like a wallflower; his dance card full, she's been swept to the sidelines. But at least now she knows what he's upset about. She knows that look. This isn't really about her; it's Alexis. She could probably fix this by confiding in him, but by doing so, she'd break Alexis's trust.

And she can't do that. She won't. And so she waits for him by the car.

* * *

The ride home is awkward. Uncomfortable, strained silence punctuated by an uneasy clearing of throats and a flitting of eyes that never quite make contact. He's glad it's only a five minute ride.

He makes coffee as she settles with the files at the dining table. They haven't spoken since the library. She looks out to the ocean, her lips down-turned and her posture screaming taut control. He feels like an ass, he's been passively-aggressively making digs all day. Despite his best efforts to forget her conversation with Alexis and to trust that Kate can handle the situation, he knows that he's fallen short. He's made glib remarks and biting comments to the most mundane of things; he had shut her down when she'd outright asked what was wrong.

A few months ago he would have chided her for hiding her feelings; it doesn't surprise him then that she snapped at him in the library. Kate's intuitive; she _has_ to know his mood isn't in response to the Fletcher comment.

He observes her as he prepares sandwiches for lunch, watches as her expression changes from sadness to one of wistful envy. Her lips twitch upwards and into a small smile. Walking over and setting the plate on the table, he looks out towards the beach, hoping to see what has captured her attention and lifted her mood, hoping to make peace.

His heart plummets. Somewhere to the vicinity of his feet, he thinks. Nick and Alexis Hamilton are chasing each other around the sand. His daughter runs up behind Nick, tackles him to the ground and throws her head back in laughter as his hands reach around and squeeze her rear. He can't watch this.

"Why is she even out there with him?" he grumbles, purposefully sitting opposite Kate and away from the view.

"Rick," she sighs, "You _know_ why. She likes him."

Yes, but what he doesn't know is _why _she likes him, apparently he has been deemed unworthy. He is no longer his daughter's confidante. It stings.

"Yes, but _why_ does she like him?" He hears the whine in his voice. He doesn't care, he can't help it. "She was crying this morning, Kate. I have no doubt that man was the cause of it."

Kate rolls her eyes at him and he clenches his fists.

"Yesterday he was a strapping, young lad; a good friend of the family. Now he's _that man?_" she argues with a raised brow.

He doesn't want to fight with her. Really, he doesn't. But she's there and since he can't just run outside and accost his daughter without making an even bigger fool of himself, Kate seems like a decent target. She's not telling him something that might be important. Haven't they had this fight before? Haven't they already worked this out? The more he thinks about it, the angrier he becomes.

"Yesterday, Alexis wasn't crying. Yesterday, I wasn't in the dark. Yesterday, I was the go-to guy. And since no one will tell me anything" he snarls, looking to Kate, "I can only assume that _he _is the one to blame."

Kate recoils from his angry glare.

"Yeah… well, you know what they say about assuming, Castle," her voice is raised, high and annoyed.

Oh, he knows. And he's being one right now; an ass that is.

"No wonder she didn't come to you," she mutters as she rises from the table and heads toward the stairs.

_No wonder she didn't come to him?_

"I can't imagine why she came to you," he sneers, instantly feeling sick to his stomach.

Fuck.

You always hurt the ones you love, right?

He hears her angry footfall down the stairs, the door as she not quite slams it, but makes it known that he is not welcome to join her. He slumps onto the table, a thud resounds as he heavily lets his head fall onto the tabletop. Then another sound, the soft snick of the balcony door opening, the buoyant voice of his daughter as she greets him.

"Hey, Dad!"

Fuck.

* * *

**Thanks to Nic and to Avi for holding my hand and dragging me through my most recent bout of, "Fuck it all, I hate this story and why didn't I just stick to the porn?!" They are angels, both of them. **

**You know what I like. **


	12. Chapter 12

He tries to compose himself before he raises his head, act as though he's tired rather than frustrated and upset. It doesn't work though, his daughter sees right through him. Her face drops, the giddy smile fading and a look of concern clouding her features.

"Dad, what is it?" He sighs. "It's nothing for you to worry about, Pumpkin."

"Dad…"

"I said no, Alexis." It comes out sharp; Kate's not the only one he's irritated with.

Her eyes snap to his.

"Did I do something wrong, Dad?"

She sounds so small. He's transported back to another moment in time when he had been less than proud of himself. She'd been in preschool at the time; he'd been at the end of his rope. He'd been single, sleep-deprived and six weeks late on his deadline. It was late at night, maybe early in the morning, and after weeks of block, days and nights spent floundering at his desk while Alexis was at school or sleeping, he had finally reached a stretch of creativity. Words had flowed onto the page, characters had come to life, and he had been in the zone. Until a small voice from the door had whispered, "Daddy?" and he had snapped at her. He doesn't remember the words, but he remembers the look. She wears the same face now. He had promised himself that night, as he whispered his apologies into her hair and soothed her back to sleep, that he would never do it again.

He had, of course; every parent does. But he had made a concerted effort not to, and he was proud that in all the years since, he can count on his hands the number of times he has needed to make an apology. Now was another of those times.

"I don't know," he says, with a wry smile and a shrug. "But I'm sorry."

He holds his arms out for a hug and she quickly falls into his arms. He kisses the top of her head before she pulls back and eyes him in confusion.

"For what?"

"For barking at you… for not respecting your privacy or trusting..."

"Not trusting…" she seems mildly confused. He watches as the pieces fall into place, understanding sparking in her eyes, followed by a hint of anger.

"Oh my god, Dad! Did Kate…" she trails off, a look of hurt on her face.

Shit! No, this isn't how it's supposed to go. He's going to put this entire day down to temporary insanity and start over. He'll start with honesty.

"Kate didn't tell me anything, honey. I saw you two talking this morning." He swallows his pride and continues. "I was hurt, Alexis. I thought that _I_ was the go-to guy. I was jealous, but I can assure you, your secret's safe with Kate."

He realizes he's had this exact same thought process before. When Alexis had first fallen in love, she'd gone to his mother. It makes sense that she'd want to talk to a woman if she was in love again.

"Dad…" she starts, as a look of hesitance wars with one of compassion. "I can tell you if you'd like… it's just… well, you know, there are some things I'd rather not come to you with."

He can't help the pang of regret at her words.

"For both our sakes," she adds with a look that implies she's not at all a little girl anymore.

Oh.

Yeah, he'd kind of suspected that this was what it was about. Not just love… but sex. Still, the confirmation is a jolt to his system. He swallows down the instinct to yell, to lock her away in a tower, Rapunzel style, until she is at least thirty. Alexis is an adult, he reminds himself.

"Yeah," he finally agrees on a sigh, "you're probably right. I trust you, Alexis. I trust you to do the right thing and make your own decisions. I'm proud of the woman you've become, you know? Sometimes it's just hard for me to accept that fact. I'm sorry."

She grins and pulls him in for another tight squeeze. When she finally releases him, he feels a little lighter. Just a little though, because he's got more apologizing to do and he has no clue how to go about that.

"Dad, what else is bothering you?" Alexis asks as she gives his appearance a thorough survey.

"I might have given Kate a hard time about not sharing. I owe her an apology too," he sighs.

"What?" Alexis demands. "Dad, how could you? I thought you'd be happy I went to Kate."

"I was… I _am_… jeez, Alexis."

"Do you trust her?"

"Apart from Gram, she's the _only_ one I'd trust with you. I've been asking her for advice about you for years," he admits with a slight chuckle. "I once asked her to take care of you, you know? Like, if anything ever happened to me?"

Her face sobers before she speaks, "You know, once I would have told you that you were being ridiculous for even thinking of asking that of her."

"And now?"

He knows that Alexis worries for his safety, that it played a huge role in her distaste for Kate in the not too distant past. He hopes Alexis might explain to him what has changed. All he knows is that the ice had slowly thawed. Before he had even worked things out with Kate, Alexis and she had come to some kind of mutual understanding.

She blushes and bites on her lip, a habit she's picked up from Kate. It makes him smile.

"When you and Gram were held hostage in the bank…" she pauses and Castle remembers with startling and painful clarity, the sheer desperation and complete feeling of vulnerability he had felt that day. But he had known that Kate was on the outside doing all that she could to get them out alive. He'd known that if she failed, Alexis would not only have someone to care for her but someone who understood what it was like. It was the one thing that had kept his head on straight.

"Dad," she continues quietly, "I was really hard on Kate that day. I rushed through the crowd, trying to find out any information. When I saw her, I couldn't stop myself. I started yelling at her, threatening her. I wasn't thinking. I just needed her to bring you back to me. God, I was such a bitch…" she trails off, catching her breath. He feels like he should reassure her.

"Hey, Alexis… no. You're not. Kate understands."

He is graced with an eye roll, another Beckett mannerism that seems to have transferred. Apparently Alexis isn't finished.

"By all means, continue," he says with an over-exaggerated eye roll of his own. She laughs and punches him in the arm.

"As you were saying, Dad."

"I was?"

"Kate understands. I didn't realize it until that moment. I gave her hell and she simply took it. She looked terrified, but so determined. She promised me she would get you out and I just _knew_ that she meant it. She wasn't trying to placate me or get me out of her hair. There was simply no other option. I saw it in her eyes, she was… fierce. And then when she came through, somehow brought you out of there alive…"

Alexis's voice quakes, catches in her throat and he squeezes her arm in reassurance.

"Dad, I wish I had of done things differently that day. I wish I had waved her over or something. As you and Gram were trying to suffocate me with your hugs, I saw Kate watching us. I recognized how much she loved you that day. I never told you, and maybe I should have. I think I mouthed an apology to her but… Dad, there was such longing in her eyes. I realized then that regardless of how terrified I was, she is the only one I'd trust like that, to keep you safe. It was a huge moment for me. I kept meaning to find a moment to tell her that, to show her that I trusted her; I think that moment was today."

He realizes that he had walked in on more than mere girl-talk this morning. He may have been witness to the start of something deeper than simply an easy rapport between his daughter and his partner. It could be the beginnings of something more like a true friendship, maybe even love. And now he's gone and put a damper on it.

"Pumpkin, it all worked out in the end. Don't beat yourself up over this stuff."

"I just wish you both knew sooner. All that time wasted, you know?"

Castle finally smiles, as the horrors of being inside the bank, fearing for his mother's and his own life, his daughter's, quickly fade away. The memory of Kate rushing to the vault, her voice hoarse and desperate appears in his mind's eye. The feel of her hand clutching at his lapels; the love oozing out of her gaze and radiating from her smile.

"She almost kissed me that day," he says quietly, reverently.

"What happened?"

"Your Grandmother," Castle groans.

Alexis snorts and stands up, ruffles his hair and winks. "Don't waste any more time, Dad."

He grins. He has raised a smart girl; she'll be fine.

* * *

She hears his footsteps on the hardwood floor and though she was done crying five minutes ago, she still runs to the bathroom to try and fix her face. The man doesn't deserve to know the effect his words had on her.

She grimaces as the rough texture of the makeup remover cloth drags under her eyes; the tears have made her eyes sting and the thin skin below is puffy and red. She holds the cloths to her face and breathes deeply, uses the citrusy scent to try and compose herself.

She tried all day not to be angry with him, to forgive him the little digs and jabs that intellectually she knows weren't any indication of his waning affections for her. He's upset about Alexis not talking to him; she understands his need to lash out. He's taken Alexis leaving for college hard.

Some nights he will call out to her, yell her name up the stairs before he realizes that she's moved out and is no longer at his beck and call for impromptu games of laser-tag or midnight movie marathons. It's not that he's losing it; it's sheer force of habit. For years, Alexis has been the center of his world. It's what first endeared him to her, the part of Richard Castle that is almost primal in the love he feels for his child. Growing has proven hard to do. For all of them.

His parting comment had stung though. It's not that she believes it; she has confidence in his faith in her. He'd trusted her advice regarding Alexis well before he'd trusted her with his heart.

It doesn't mean she isn't still mad. It's why she doesn't answer when she hears him softly call her name from the threshold of the bedroom.

"Kate…" he says, his shadow appearing in the doorway before he ducks his head around the corner. He sounds a mix of seriousness and sheepish, and he won't quite catch her eye.

"What do you want, Castle?" Shit, that came out harsher than she intended.

He seeks out her gaze then, holds it and smiles apologetically until she senses her own feelings betraying her; the soft flutter of butterflies in her stomach melting the anger away.

"You," he states, striding into the bathroom.

Huh… this seems familiar, a little twisted, but… she doesn't finish the thought because his hands are cupping her face; his mouth is hot and needy on her own and she's being pushed up against the counter.

It feels wrong. They should talk, apologize. It's been his motto for the last five months, after their first time had very nearly been their last time; when he had woken to an empty bed and thought the worst of her.

"Talk first, sex later," he has offered ever since. She's the one that uses sex to pacify; he's usually the voice of reason. She pushes against his chest and his mouth leaves hers with an audible pop.

"Castle, what the _hell?_"

"I figured it worked the first time…" he grimaces, shrugging slightly.

"If I recall, it very nearly ended us. We can't just keep fucking it out, Rick."

The words reek of dishonestly and she hates herself the minute they leave her mouth.

"I don't _fuck_ you Kate. I've _never_ just fucked you."

She rocks back and forth on her heels. He's right. It has been urgent and needy at times, but it's never _just_ been fucking. He stands in front of her, anxiously running his hands through his hair, leaving it mussed and spiky. She looks into his eyes, dark and glinting with anger, and can't find the words. She's being childish. He hurt her, so she hurt him back. A punitive strike, that if she doesn't take back and end now, will only fester and snowball until there's no turning back. Until one of them says something so cutting that it's over between them as it's only just begun. Slow, hot tears roll down her cheeks as she watches him gulp around a lump in his own throat.

"Castle…" she whimpers, looking up at him. His head drops forward and the rigidity leaves his shoulders as he reaches out and lets a hand span her jaw, "I'm…"

She feels like suddenly her legs can't support her weight. She stumbles a little, turns and falls forward against the counter. She catches his eye in the mirror and in an instant he is on her, spinning her around and dragging her toward him.

"So sorry," he grunts, catching her and pressing his mouth to hers.

"Shut up," she says. She wants to stop. She really does. Her mind screams that they need to slow down but her body begs her to just take him. She grabs a fistful of his t-shirt and pushes against him.

"Rick," She calls to him, eyes trained on his hooded stare. He too is struggling with need. His pupils are wide and dilated; a deep pool of black, rimmed with only a minute sparkle of the blue that so often leaves her mesmerized. Her breathing betrays her; it comes out in short puffs from her swollen, parted lips.

He crowds her even more then, possessive, his heavy hand on her neck, lifting her chin to him. In any other situation, with any other person, this hand would be menacing. But not with him, his cool touch burns her skin, branding her with desire. She doesn't divert her eyes as her hand sneaks her way between them to open his fly. His eyes watch, tracking the shift in her intentions.

"Kate…"

"Just kiss me, Castle," she begs. "Please, just kiss me."

He captures her mouth with his, hands grabbing her buttocks and pulling her against him. She jerks back as the evidence of his arousal prods against her. There is the beginning of a leer on her face, before he wipes it off by trailing the side of his hand between her legs. She gasps as his hands run over her body; moans, as his fingers brush her stomach, a soft trail of heat against her bare skin as he fumbles with the buttons on her shirt. They move against each other, an urgent grind, he grunts and pulls at the shirt in frustration. The last two buttons go skittering across the marble floor and he sighs in relief.

"I _liked _that shirt," Kate complains, against his hurried and messy kisses. It's half-heated and she sloppily kisses him back as warmth pools between her legs.

"I like this better," he growls, his voice thick and hoarse. He dips his head and sucks on a nipple through the thin lace of her bra; she feels a pull in her groin in response, her head falls back and she moans as his teeth drag lightly across her chest and his mouth finds purchase on her other breast.

He's right, fuck the shirt. She shucks off the remains and lets it float to the floor. Fuck his too, she thinks and roughly shoves him away. A moment of panic clouds his features but she quickly erases it, walks him backwards toward the wall and smirks, before violently pulling his t-shirt over his head. He's caught off-guard and she uses the moment to twist his hands in the tangled cotton and pin him arms above his head.

"And _I _like this better," she grins before sliding her tongue over his collar bone.

"Won't hear me complaining," he retorts and she continues her path across his sternum.

His hips buck when she cups him between the legs, wobbling her backwards a step; he takes the opportunity to free himself from the shirt and grasps the back of her neck, drawing her in for a searing kiss. Her hands run through his hair, her fingers sensitive to the small pricks as she grazes over the short hairs at the nape of his neck. As their tongues battle for dominance, his hand fights to release the button on her shorts. She grunts in annoyance and quickly does the job herself, her hands quickly returning to tangle in his hair as his right hand slides down the front of her shorts.

"So wet," he purrs into her ear. Her hands fist into his hair as he slips a finger inside.

"Easy, woman," he grunts and she releases her grip, soothes his hair down and slides her fingers through the silky strands.

She has to have him. Soon. Why are they still wearing pants?

"Off," she demands, tugging on the waistband of his shorts.

"Yes," he agrees and they quickly go about the task of removing pants and underwear.

As soon as she steps out of her panties she is on him, hooking her legs around his waist and attacking his mouth with renewed fire. He carries her to the counter and she gasps as the cool tile touches her bare behind. Her heart hammers in her chest, a wild and faltering staccato, as he places his hands on the counter; surrounding her and encasing her in a humid bubble of pheromones and want.

Eyes that she doesn't remember closing fly open when she feels him at her entrance. She's hot and slick and he moves his hard length up and down, making himself wet and teasing her with his cock.

"Now," she says.

His hips jerk up and in one long thrust he's inside of her, burying himself to the hilt and breathing out a roughly sworn, "Fuck."

She groans and lets her head fall to the side, colliding with his arms. She drags her teeth across his bicep and soothes the mark with her tongue, rolls her neck and catches his lips with her own. She opens her mouth against his, tries for a cheeky retort. Isn't that what they had just been arguing about? At this moment, she can't imagine why. All she can manage is a moan, as she wraps her legs tight around his waist, knuckles white as she grips the counter, the movement changing the angle. He slams into her with force and her hips rise to meet him, stroke for stroke.

"Yeah," she agrees. "Fuck… Rick."

It's not graceful. It's hurried and messy, jarring and savage. He fills her, again and again, flicks her clit before pulling it between his fingers and massaging; until her back arches and she's not sure if she can take any more. She rises and falls, is awash in sensation, the heavy pant of his breath is warm and moist across her face.

The rhythmic slap of sweat-soaked skin fills the room and the almost painful quiver between her thighs spins her into a feral trance; her muscles and tendons protest, they've spent too long on the edge of euphoria, clenched and frantic for release. She slips a little and her toes touch the floor; it only serves to drive him deeper.

She hears Martha and Alexis out in the hallway, but can't even begin to find the control to try and be quiet; not when she's so completely undone by him. Not when he refuses to stop moving and is sheathed so deep inside. He clamps a hand over her mouth and tries to hush her. She bites on his palm to stop from crying out loud.

She hears Alexis, bless that child, hastily telling Martha that they have left for the day; she breathes a shaky sigh of relief around his hand as their voices fade off and toward the upper level.

"Please," she babbles. "Please, please, please."

"What… do you want, Kate?" he puffs out between haggard breaths, upping the speed and driving deep inside.

Stupid man. What does he think she wants? She looks down between them, watches as his cock slides in and out, covered in the sticky, wet product of their arousal.

She wants him of course. She wants him in her, over her, surrounding her. She wants him to love her. She wants him to make her come. She wants him to fuck her, damn it. God. She's so close.

"You… god… Castle…you… please…"

He nods, seems to understand her urgency. She watches as sweat beads on his forehead and lands with a drip onto the chrome faucet, her own sweat slipping down her back, making it hard to keep her grip on the counter. She watches the intensity on his face as he repeatedly pounds into her, she cries out as he bites on the muscle of her shoulder; but then he's suddenly withdrawing and she thinks she might die from sheer agony of the loss of contact. He grabs a wrist and pulls her up; she sways a little as the blood rushes to her head.

"Turn around," he says, his voice rough and gravelly.

Oh, thank god. This is exactly what she needs. She grins and conforms to his demand, sighs with relief as she slumps forward onto the cool counter top, glad for the rest it affords her forearms. He catches her eye in the mirror and enters her, one hand gripping her shoulders, the other curling fingers around her neck, lifting her chin so she can't escape his gaze.

"_Love you",_ he mouths and she smiles in agreement before he loosens his hold, letting her head flop forward. It's less than a minute before she is coming undone around him. Another minute, where she doesn't know if she can handle the intense pleasure that verges on pain, it's sharp and exquisite, ecstasy. She trembles, falls apart and comes back together again, rides the wave with abandon. And then she feels him surge, his hands sliding to her hips, his grip tense and forceful, surely leaving fingerprints behind. He stiffens, jerks, stills and jerks again. He is calling her name and howling out a string of expletives, falling clumsily onto her back and brushing the hair away from her neck so he can attempt to suck on her ear. He ends up slobbering on her neck and she grins into the tile, too exhausted to lift her head.

"I love you," he murmurs. "And I'm sorry…"

"Castle…" she sighs.

She doesn't have the energy to do this now, is too thoroughly spent to manage a conversation or apologies. Wasn't that the make-up sex? Surely he realizes that in the last few minutes she has changed her stance on 'fucking it out'.

"I'm sorry," he cuts her off and she feels him lightly shake his head. "But I can't move. Can you just…" he lays a sloppy kiss on her ear. "Give me a minute to recover?"

She laughs and rolls out from under him, leaves him slumped over the counter and sinks to the floor. She tugs on a leg hair to grab his attention and he offers her a fatigued glance, barely raises his head off the tiles.

"I love you, too," she smiles.

He languidly slides off the counter and heavily drops to the floor beside her. He slumps, his head falling uncomfortably into her shoulder. She shifts him, urges him down, so that his head rests in her lap.

Kate twists his hair around her fingers and tells him that she's sorry, too.

* * *

**Hopefully this chapter soothed some of that burn from the last. And perhaps started another kind of fire in your belly. Feel free to tell me all about it. *plays coy***

**This chapter is dedicated to Avi, Nic and Tiff. I hope I satisfied all your porny needs. Demanding bitches! It was tricky slipping in all the requests but I like the end result. **


	13. Chapter 13

A shared shower, a nap, and more than a few hours later they finally venture back upstairs. The upper floor is dark, barring a single light over the stove. A note, left on the fridge, informs them that they are finally alone for the weekend. Alexis claims to need to be back in the city in time for classes and a hastily scribbled note added to the bottom, from Martha, tells them to not do anything she wouldn't do. Which is really rather handy, Rick thinks; his mother is hardly one to hold back.

Rick opens the fridge, his rumbling stomach telling him to prepare a meal. They never got around to the sandwiches and breakfast was almost twelve hours ago.

The doorbell interrupts his studies of the refrigerator contents with a merry chime.

"You wanna get that?" he calls over his shoulder to Kate, still pondering the lack of food and trying to decide what he can prepare.

"Sure," Kate shrugs, not even hesitating, already halfway to the front door.

It makes him smile, she's comfortable here.

Kate reappears a minute later carrying two boxes that smell heavenly and wearing a huge smile.

"Your daughter is an angel," she says, depositing the boxes on the dining table and strolling toward him. "You got a five?"

He raises an eyebrow.

"For tip," she clarifies.

Rick's still slightly confused, but rummages in his pockets, pulls out a wad of bills and hands it over. She rolls her eyes and slips out a five before dumping the rest on the counter and running back to the door. She reappears a moment later and sits at the table, motions for him to join her. He closes the fridge, the waft of fresh pizza permeating the kitchen and making his stomach rumble. Dinner is apparently taken care of and so he joins her.

"Alexis did this?" he asks,

"Your daughter not only made herself and her grandma scarce, apparently she also ordered and paid for our dinner. The delivery boy was told to tell me, "Thanks for not killing my Dad." And if you had answered the door, he was told to tell you with force, "Don't screw it up.""

She laughs and continues, "The kid was barely old enough to drive and skinny as a rake, I would have liked to see that exchange actually."

He grins and she pulls a slice of pizza from the box, moans in appreciation as her teeth sink into the first bite. Cheese oozes around her mouth, leaves gooey strings that she catches with a finger and deposits back in her mouth. Even eating pizza, Kate is sensual as hell. "How does she know barbecue chicken is my favorite?" she asks around a mouthful of pizza.

He grins at the barbecue sauce trailing down her chin and wipes it off with his thumb, sucks it into his mouth with a leer. Kate ignores his attempt at playing sexy and continues munching on her pizza. It seems hunger has overridden any feelings of desire for the moment. It's probably a good thing; he doesn't know how much longer he can keep up the pace they've set over the last few days. He needs his strength if he is to continue, and he has some mending of fences to do regarding his daughter and his partner.

"She's pretty observant actually. It was never one of our regular orders until a few months ago."

"Yeah, well you should buy that girl a pony or something. She's definitely a keeper."

He laughs, "I offered once, you know? She went on and on about the responsibility involved in caring for and keeping a pony. She was _seven!_" He shakes his head in mock despair.

"Car?" she mumbles around another bite.

"New York City. Too dangerous and expensive parking. Her words, not mine."

He shrugs and pulls out a slice of the 'Meat, meat and more meat' that Alexis had ordered for him. His daughter really is extraordinary he thinks, as his teeth hit bacon, pepperoni and sausage all in the first mouthful.

"It's her way of apologizing," he says.

"For what?"

"Never underestimate Alexis's ability to take on guilt that isn't hers to own, Kate. She's upset about us fighting earlier, thinks it's her fault."

"That's absurd," she says frowning, looking concerned. "That was entirely _us_ being ridiculous."

"She once baked and sent cookies to the entire faculty of her school because a bunch of students defaced the gym lockers with slurs against them. Never mind that she had nothing to do with it. She felt that they were under-appreciated and was ashamed of her peers' level of disrespect."

"Are we sure she's yours?" Kate grins around another bite.

He actually knows the answer to this one, with absolute certainty, and it brings him up short. He gulps down the feeling of guilt that still lingers. The test hadn't been his idea but he'd gone along with it nevertheless.

"Actually, I am." he states, noting the sadness that's not quite hidden in his voice. He chastises himself for breaking the happy mood.

Kate quirks a brow at his tone; a hint of uncertainty mars her features, her mouth a stiff line of apprehension. "Castle…" she says, placing a hand on his and lacing her fingers through his own. He should explain; his slip of the tongue in reply to her joke has obviously thrown her off.

"It was part of the divorce proceedings; my lawyer insisted."

She nods, understanding in her eyes.

Honestly, he had been curious himself.

Anyone would have been after the way he'd found out about Meredith and her 'friend' the producer. He'd walked into the apartment they'd owned, happy to have been released early from a meeting and wanting to take his family out to dinner. He'd been stunned to find his wife on her knees and horrified to find his baby girl crying in another room.

Castle had gotten his lawyers to draw up the papers the next day, had taken Alexis and moved out the next week. Meredith hadn't even blinked; just wished him luck and thanked him for the memories. He hadn't been entirely surprised, she had always been flighty. He'd been curious, but if not for his lawyers insistence, he probably would have happily lived forever in ignorance. In his mind, Alexis had been his flesh and blood since the moment her tiny fingers had first curled around his own.

"It wouldn't have mattered to me," he continues. "Once I saw her…I couldn't…it wouldn't have changed..." he trails off.

"I know," she smiles, squeezing his fingers. "You're a good dad, Rick. It was actually one of the first things that attracted me to you," she confesses.

That isn't news. But she's drawing her hand away and blushing, and she'd ducked her head away as soon as the admission left her lips; that _is _new. It sets his heart beating wildly inside his chest. He'd thought she wasn't near ready for this conversation. But something about the low tone of her voice, and the way she is wringing a napkin in her hands tells him this is about more than making him feel better. The way she chews on her lips as though trying to hold something back.

Does Kate want babies? Babies with him? Maybe he should just ask her. No. Less direct. Less direct will definitely be a better course of action.

"I wish I'd had more," he says softly and her eyes shoot to his.

The napkin drops to the table and she takes a deep breath. "Yeah?"

Her voice sounds a little choked but her eyes are sparkling with something he can't quite place. More than curiosity, it looks almost like… relief?

"Well, you know…" He walks his fingers over the table, until he reaches her fingers and can link them with hers. "With the right woman," he says, raising a meaningful eyebrow. "Know of anybody?"

She chuckles and quickly replies, "I'm not making a baby with you, Richard Castle."

In an instant his heart sinks, he'd been so sure.

"Not yet anyway," she clarifies, cutting off his thoughts. She takes his other hand so she is holding both of his between her palms. "You haven't even married me yet."

He hasn't even bought her a ring, he realizes. Shit. He has to remedy this. He'd thought she wasn't ready. But everything about what she has just said, so simply and succinctly, in two little sentences, tells him that she is at least prepared for him to ask. If not ready to make a myriad little Castle babies, and walk down the aisle, she is, at this moment, practically oozing with her love for him; he is suddenly certain of her answer if he were to ask.

"You're right," he says, clearing his throat. "I should get on that."

Her eyes widen in shock and he grins back at her.

"At ease, Detective. When I ask, it will be both big _and _intimate."

"You remembered," she smiles back at him, placing a light kiss on his lips.

"When will you learn that when it comes to you, Kate, I am _always_ paying attention?"

"I don't know…" she smirks and he feels the zinger coming, the serious conversation coming to a close.

He's okay with that though. They've worked through a lot of issues recently. Regarding her mom's case and her own, they've come to an understanding; they'll work it together or not at all. And proper workplace etiquette has been well and truly covered; he doesn't grope her in public and she rewards him in private. Turns out the elevator at the precinct is considered 'private'. As is the storage closet and the locker room. He's more than happy with that arrangement. They've gone over and over the past, but they haven't really discussed the future. He's been too scared to spook her, and apparently, she's been waiting on him to make the first move. He's learned more about the wants of Kate in the last five minutes than the last five months. He smiles at her and waits for her to finish.

"Took you long enough to realize I was going commando the other day," she chuckles.

"I was thrown by the Stepford wife look you had going on," he replies in as serious a tone as he can manage. He adds an exaggerated shudder for effect. "Obviously, it messed with my Beckett sensors."

"Oh, you loved that outfit," she purrs with a saucy wink. He's caught up in memories of cashmere and soft skin, doesn't notice when she grabs one of the folders that had been left on the table earlier.

She whacks him over the head with it. He laughs and seizes it as she goes for a second swing.

"So you wanna?" he says, dropping his voice low and waving the file temptingly in front of her face.

"You sure know how to excite a girl, Castle."

"Oh come on, a double murder? It's gonna be a total turn on if we manage solve this thing!"

She laughs but concedes, "Sadly Castle… you're probably right."

"Yes!" He hands her over a stack of files.

"It's still just a suicide."

"Uh-huh, sure it is, Kate."

She rolls her eyes and they begin scanning the files. He takes William's and Kate takes Charlotte's. They work in quiet synchronicity, the sounds of paper shuffling and the soft tap of Kate's fingers against the wooden table the only sounds breaking through the peaceful hum of the nearby ocean.

"Well, shit!" Kate suddenly says, her voice is breathy and sounds a little irritated.

He sighs. He's got nothing; William's death is almost certainly a suicide. There's simply no time for it to be anything else. It had been mere minutes from when he'd last been seen alive until his body had been discovered. His injuries are consistent with a fall, there's simply nothing pointing to murder, much to Castle's chagrin. From the sounds of Kate, she's at her wits end and has nothing as well.

"I got nothing," he finally groans, looking to her and waiting for confirmation that his theory is a bust.

"Charlotte was murdered," she says, a look of shock on her face.

"I'm sorry… _what_?"

He'd resigned himself to his romantic notion just being a flight of fancy. And now Kate is confirming that at least half of what he suspected was true? His heart beats a little faster at the realization.

"The file, it describes her injuries in a surprising amount of detail. Contusions to her forearms, broken nails, abrasions on her hands and the back of her knees… Castle, these are defensive wounds. The fall was definitely the cause of her death but she didn't jump. She was pushed."

"Wow, that's… wow, I don't wanna say great because, well yeah, but… Wait, if it's a murder why was it deemed a suicide?"

"This was the 'twenties Castle, it was unfortunately fairly common for domestic abuse cases to get written off as suicide."

His heart drops. "You think this was…"

No way. He simply can't believe that William was responsible for his wife's murder. Every story he's ever heard about this man, every random blurb in the local newspaper and every piece of idle gossip he's come across all point to William as being devastated by the loss of his wife. How could he have beaten her, killed her…? He loved her, he knows it. There has to be another explanation.

"It's not unheard of, Castle."

"Not this guy, he couldn't."

"Why not? We've seen plenty of cases like this before. Husband kills wife in a fit of passion and he spends the rest of his life wallowing in the guilt. It's sickeningly routine, to be honest. It's well documented that she rarely left the estate. Who else would have reason to kill her, Castle?"

He rubs his hands through his hair, letting his nails drag over his scalp. She has a point, damn it. Still, it's not sitting right. There's more to this story, he can feel it.

"Could you go with gut instinct on this one? Indulge me? Maybe she heard something, saw something she shouldn't have. I just can't buy William being the killer. What about what he was saying right before he died?"

"Ravings of a mad man?"

"What about this?" he says, sliding over a copy of Charlotte's obituary. After all the pertinent details and the time and place of her funeral, a poem was printed, penned by William himself. "He _loved _her. He couldn't have."

_Soar my love, do not distress._

_No more tears, don't waste your breath._

_Your heart is true; your soul is free,_

_Go forth my dear, don't wait for me._

_Spread you wings and dance in the air._

_You blessed my life, I'll meet you there._

"It's beautiful," she whispers, running her hands over the yellowed newsprint.

"He didn't do it, Kate. He couldn't have."

He knows he sounds a little desperate and he can't even pinpoint what has him so invested in this mystery, why he can't let it go; he just knows he has to solve it and put it to rest. Perhaps it's the mystery surrounding the love story and how it mirrors his relationship with Kate. The lost soul, the man desperately in love, how very close he'd come to losing Kate on a cool and sunny May morning. If she had died that day, he cannot guarantee he wouldn't have become a hermit himself, cannot guarantee he wouldn't have driven himself into the ground looking for her killer. The threat still looms over their heads. Maddox is dead but the Dragon remains a mystery; perhaps closing this case will give him some semblance of hope. If they can find justice for William and Charlotte, maybe they will one day be able to do so for themselves.

"Okay Rick," she soothes. "We'll look into it further."

He breathes a sigh of relief, glad she's on board. If not fully convinced that she agrees with him, he can tell that she at least trusts his judgment enough to go along with him. Maybe it's only out of love, but she's giving him the benefit of the doubt.

"But tomorrow, 'kay?" she smiles and stands up, stretches her arms over her head. "Come on, let's go for a walk. I need to clear my head, stretch my legs a little."

He grins; he knows exactly where they should walk to.

"Go on ahead," he grins, "I just need to grab something." She eyes him suspiciously but nods her head and leaves without him. Castle quickly gathers what he needs and runs to catch up with her.

The sun has long set over the horizon; the sky is a deep purple and the waves are an inky black. The night is clear and for a far as he can see, the stars shine bright and clear. He misses this sky when he's in the city; the ever-present orange glow that a few million lights give off doesn't lend itself to stargazing. He could never live on the Island permanently, he'd miss the bright lights and the constant movement, the mass of people and the twenty-four-seven hum. Still, as he trots down the sand toward Kate, snagging her hand and counting the stars as he guides her up the beach, he makes a vow to come out here more often, to enjoy the quiet.

The waves break gently on the shore and cicadas cry in the distance. The horn of an oil tanker, far out at sea, blows mournfully, its siren travelling on the breeze. Its lights twinkle merrily on the horizon and he wonders where it's coming from or going to, who lives on board and if they have a family waiting for them at the next port of call. He leads her toward a pile of driftwood that he and Alexis had set up years before; over the years it has become something of a neighborhood meeting place and though the summer is over and the beach will soon be deserted until warmer weather prevails, he's happy to note that the pile is still large. A decent sized bundle of kindling sits next to the main stack and he sends out a prayer of thanks to whoever had the forethought to leave it. He drops the supplies he brought next to her and sets about lighting a fire while Kate leans back in the sand and watches him. He looks over his shoulder, catches her with a look of wonder shining in her eyes.

"What?" he asks, flicking the lighter, turning back and prodding the kindling to keep his fledgling fire alight.

"Nothing," she shrugs, "I just… I see a different side of you here. You're… softer."

Satisfied that the fire is burning bright and safe to be left alone, he settles next to her in the sand.

"If this is your way of telling me I've had one too many s'mores, Katherine Beckett," he frowns and pokes at his abdomen, she may have a point but he's not gonna concede, "I'm not gonna share with you." He grins, is tempted to poke out his tongue at her.

"No, that's not what I meant," she sighs happily, bumping him in the shoulder. "You're… slower?"

"Um, Kate? I think maybe you're digging a bigger hole for yourself. Now I'm fat _and _dumb?"

She laughs and leans into to him, tackling him and rolling him onto his back. "You know that's not what I meant," she says as she straddles him. He could fight her off but he'll let her lead any day if it ends up with him on his back with her thighs squeezing tightly around his hips.

She leans in and kisses him softly on the lips, no passion, just a simple reassurance. He likes this side of Kate. She's softer too in his summer home, more relaxed and less buttoned up. A lot less buttoned up he thinks with a smirk as he lets his hands travel up her legs, drawing the skirt of the long dress she's wearing up with his hands.

"Quit it," she grumbles, smacking at his hands. "It's cold."

"I'll warm you up," he leers.

"Work on the fire, caveman," she says with an eye roll and a huff. She grabs the packages of chocolate and marshmallows from the sand, dumps them on his chest. "I want s'mores."

He pouts, sure that a little bit of charm will have her pressing her chest to him, have her again yielding her lips to his. He hopes that this time he can manage to spark a little more passion and a little less compassion.

"The leaves were bad enough;" her voice is droll, but clear and final. "We're not having sex in the sand."

"Spoil sport," he grumbles, but he rises and complies with her demands, effectively dumping her in the very sand she's trying to avoid.

She chuffs out a laugh and pokes his side as they set about making s'mores together. He roasts the marshmallows while she assembles the Graham Crackers and chocolate bars into miniature towers, arranging them in a line along a lengthy plank of wood. He smiles at how she has them in neat little rows, perfectly straight and aligned.

"Done," he declares, proud not to have cremated them while looking at her handiwork. The marshmallows are a light, golden brown, perfectly prepared. Years of practice and multiple earfuls from Alexis have made him a master of marshmallow roasting. He blows on the skewer to cool them and one by one she lays them neatly on her assembly line, adds a second cracker to complete the dessert.

They lie back in the sand and munch on the gooey treats as clouds roll in on the breeze, thick and heavy, the surf picks up and the sound of the waves becomes a rolling cadence. The stars blink, and then disappear altogether as the breeze shifts directions and picks up speed. Melted chocolate dribbles down their fingers and the warm marshmallow makes their hands sticky. He takes one of her hands in his own and brings it to his mouth, slowly licks her fingers clean. He watches as her eyes darken with arousal and she sites bites down on a smile.

"Still no sex on the beach, Castle," she hums.

The long beam of the lighthouse in the distance catches his eye and through the rotating shaft of light he sees the unmistakable blur or rain coming in. She follows his gaze and notices the impending dousing.

"It's pretty," she says, sitting up and nodding her head in the lighthouses direction. "We should go there tomorrow."

"Totally!" he cries, excited by the prospect of walking in William's footsteps, maybe finding a clue to the mystery of his wife's murder.

"Tomorrow," she says, laughing at his enthusiasm and pulling him up to his feet. The first fat drops of rain slowly start spilling from the sky, landing with splashes on their arms and in their hair, the sound of the approaching rainstorm is like footsteps running fast up the beach. "Right now…Run!"

They make it back to the beach house in only a few minutes but it's not fast enough to save themselves from being drenched. Their teeth are chattering and they leave a trail of puddles through the bedroom and into the bathroom as they shiver and quickly shuck their sodden clothes. They share a shower to warm up; her soapy hands running up and down his body doing more to ease the chill than the warm water. He washes her hair and she massages his shoulders and back with a soapy lather of her body wash. By the time the water runs cold, they are drowsy, their muscles loose and slack. He smells like her, girly, with a distinct hint of vanilla and peach; he doesn't mind.

Under the fluffy down comforter, with the sound of rain beating down on the roof, he enters her from behind. He wraps an arm around her and moves at a languid pace. Her head rests on his outstretched arm and she interlocks her fingers with his. She rocks her hips in time with his and mumbles that she loves him over and over again; he presses his fingers to her core and whispers her name on a sigh as he spills into her and she shudders around him.

He starts to disentangle himself, to turn to the bathroom and clean up, as her breath evens out; but she holds onto him, trapping his leg between her thighs. "Where are you going?" she says; it's almost a whine.

"Well, you know..." he says, somewhat bashful, looking down to where they were just joined.

"I'm not moving anywhere," she says, drawing her body up against his. His chest presses against her warm back and an arm is slung over her waist, his hand rises to cup a breast. "And neither should you," she sighs, sinking heavily into the pillow, trapping his other arm underneath.

He smiles and buries his head into the back of her neck, absentmindedly kneading the flesh under his fingers. If she's comfortable enough not to worry, he's content enough not to care.

"Shameless…" he exhales with a smile, as exhaustion overtakes him. "M'not going anywhere, Kate." He mumbles, as he closes his eyes and drifts into sleep.

* * *

**Much thanks to Avi. **

**I had this chapter 99.9% done almost two days ago but I was stuck on the last paragraph or two. Everything I wrote made me shudder a little at the 'ewww factor', but I still wanted to, somewhat, show a teeny little bit of realism. I angsted for days; she sent me a paragraph within minutes that I barely had to tweak and so finally this one was complete. **

**What would I do without her?**


	14. Chapter 14

**Um... I'm sorry? **

**I know it's been forever since I updated. I lost my mojo for a little while there. I'm not entirely certain that it's back. I blame Marlowe. Who needs to write fic when you can _watch_ it? Bless you, Andrew. Bless you.**

* * *

On the way through town the next morning Kate and Rick stop for a late breakfast. Their options are limited in the small town and they end up at a restaurant overlooking the ocean, sitting at a table covered in white linens and adorned with sparkling silverware. The place seems more suited to a romantic dinner for two than a casual late breakfast.

"You know one of these days we might want to think about picking up some groceries," Kate muses while digging her fork into a decadent mocha raspberry torte. The cake is moist and, somehow, still light, layered between the thin slices of sponge, a chocolate mousse is spread. There's just a hint of espresso in every bite and Kate thinks she might have died and gone to heaven.

"I don't know, I could get used to eating like this every day," he replies. His plate is huge; crab benedict, piled high and slathered in a rich hollandaise sauce. A side of buttery hash browns.

"Keep it up, Castle," Kate smirks, "and there won't be room for both of us in the bed."

"You wound me," he says, snagging a forkful of her breakfast dessert.

She smacks his hand as he retreats and then goes in for an attack. She aims for the hash browns but he catches her wrist mid-flight.

"You gotta pay the toll," he grins and she raises an eyebrow.

He puckers his lips and leans across the table, lips smacking and eyes screwed tightly shut; he's expecting her to comply with his ridiculous command and for a moment she leans in, drawn by the lure of his full lower lip and the promise of sampling his food. Instead she sits back and smirks at him, withdrawing her hand and leaving him hanging. She feels like playing, bringing back some of their banter after all the awkwardness of the last few days.

"Cold, Kate. So cold," he huffs, proceeding to make a show of finishing his breakfast. He moans with each bite, extolling the deliciousness of every morsel. She hates to admit it, but he's turning her on with his suggestive noises. By the time he's done, Kate's not sure whether it's Castle she's jealous of or the food.

She grabs the keys from him in retaliation as they exit the restaurant and floors it all the way to the lighthouse.

"You're so hot when you're frustrated," he breathes down her neck as they slowly make their way up the long driveway, tires crunching on the gravel.

"Hmm," she replies noncommittally, throwing the car into park and hopping out.

Her eyes are instantly drawn to the large gleaming lighthouse. The tower has been kept in good repair, being bestowed to the council upon William's death and still in service, maintained by the coast guard. The house however; years of neglect have left it in disrepair. Caution tape surrounds the wrap-around balcony and bar entry to the once grand estate; weeds have grown intertwined with the posts and the paint has chipped to a mere smattering of grey blotches, lending the house a distinctly haunted look.

Castle is practically bouncing on his toes and lilting in the house's direction in his eagerness to go explore.

"Over here," she calls to him, intending to lead him to the welcome sign and a box that seems to hold pamphlets of some variety. But he's not moving; instead he wears a look of longing, aimed toward the house that clearly states, 'No trespassing'. She smiles as a small pout forms on his face. She can't resist sidling up alongside him and patting his cheek.

"Buck up, Castle, we've got all day for ghost busting."

All of the joy returns to his face and she wonders for a minute what's got him so perky. Then it hits her… ghost busting. She is seriously contemplating breaking into the house and exploring with him. Worse still, ghosts are the first thing that came to mind. Not code violations or even the mystery they are here to try and solve. God, she's slowly morphing into the female version of him. And by the look of glee on his face, he knows it.

"So this place is open to the public?" she asks as they reach the small sign.

"In the summer, yeah," he says, grabbing a pamphlet and opening it to the first page. "It earns the council a little bit of money to keep up with the repairs and besides, this place is _cool_. The view from up top is great as well!_"_

"It's a pity the house isn't open," she laments, looking over his shoulder at the photos of the house and the grounds in their former glory. "I wonder why nobody kept up with it."

"There was a period of a few decades after William died, where ownership was contended. A long-lost cousin or something claimed that William was out of his mind and never meant to bequeath the estate to the council; he said that they were close and William had promised the land to him. Turns out, they had never met and he was something like a sixth cousin, twice removed. It was tied up in the courts for so long though, that by the time it was resolved that the cousin had no legal right to the place, it had already disintegrated fairly badly. Once in a while the community talks about restoring it, but it's a bit of a local legend. I think a lot of the residents like that it stands exactly as it were the day William died, that it might be something of an irreverence to go inside when he had not let anyone enter for decades."

"Still, it's a shame."

"I don't know, Kate," he says, twining his hand with hers and walking her onto the large span of grass leading to the lighthouse. "I kind of think it adds to the romance of the place. Her spot, looking over the ocean still standing, still waiting and his, slowly crumbling away to dust. It's like their spirits are still here, repeating the past in the form of their domiciles."

"Sounds like more of a tragedy than a romance, Castle."

"Aren't all the great romances tragedies?"

"I hope not," she says, giving him a meaningful look.

"Oh, we have _totally_ used up our tragedy quota, Kate." He squeezes her hand and grins. "It's only happily ever after for us now."

Yeah. She likes the sound of that. Not in the fairy-tale, nothing bad ever happened again way; she's in love but she not blinded by it. But in the, 'working together through the ups and downs and the future is looking bright,' kind of way. She believes him. How can she not when his eyes are so clear and shining and his face is so certain?

"Happily ever after," she agrees as they reach a path that leads the last few steps up to the lighthouse. She squeezes his hand and he smiles down at her tenderly. She leans in and closes her eyes, intending to kiss him, when she hears the creaking of a door.

"Hey folks!" a cheery voice greets as the door at the base of the lighthouse slams shut.

"Hey! Mike right? Long time no see," Castle cheerily greets, shaking the older man's hand. Kate blushes and nods in greeting.

"Richard Castle, yeah? I think our daughters used to play together during the summers."

Rick sighs, a wistful smile on his face. Mike pats his shoulder and nods knowingly. "Time flies, huh? Christie's a senior this year."

The two men lament the progress of time for a few more moments before Mike waves in the direction of the lighthouse and offers to give them a tour. It's closed during the fall and winter, but he's happy to oblige for an old acquaintance.

Mike Walker is a cheery man of about fifty, sporting a huge mustache and rosy, pink cheeks. Kate instantly likes him. He's portly but not fat, informative as he gives them a brief rundown of the light's history but not overbearing or hovering as he leads them up a winding staircase that circles the outside of the structure. He shows them the keeper's quarters, a tiny room with a single bed, a porthole window and a small writing desk on the second floor. It's a throwback to another era. Brass frame bed and lacy curtains, the touch of a woman; old maps and a stout pipe sit on the desk, the evidence of a former keeper. The air is musty and while the room has been dusted recently, it's obvious the room hasn't been lived in for over a century. A yellowed hue of age covers every surface, a calendar on the wall reads November, 1902. With excitement, he shows them what was once a storage room. Now, it holds an array of modern tracking equipment and Coast Guard paraphernalia. Kate grabs Castle's arm as he reaches for a knob and Mike laughs and admits that he wishes he could play with all the dials too. It turns out the lighthouse had been automated decades earlier and that Mike's only job is to give tours and ensure vandals don't make a mess, to clean it up if they do.

"It pays the bills," he smiles as he leads them up the final steps to the top level. At the center is a large lamp and the array of mirrors that reflect its glow. An iron railing topped with highly polished wood surrounds and protects the lamp. Decorative brass knobs adorn the encasement and are polished to a high sheen. The room smells like fresh paint, it's obvious that Mike takes careful pride in his work.

"Wow..." Kate breathes as she steps into the watch room.

The view is spectacular. The shore stretches out in front of her in either direction, pale sand and deep blue sea. The weather couldn't be more perfect. The sky is clear and she can see for miles. Puffy white clouds gather in the distance. The aerial view of the town is awe inspiring, a testament to both the great wealth as she looks along the coast and the small town charm as she turns and looks inland. Fall colors are slowly taking over from the greenery of summer and it's a majestic swatch of yellow and gold for as far as she can see.

"Hey! There's our house!" Castle cries, pointing in the general direction.

Kate can't quite make it out though. It's not because it's too far away. It might be because her eyes are suddenly filled with tears. "Our house", he said, not mine. As though it's already a done deal. And it is, she realizes. Perhaps not legally, but it is_. _It feels overwhelming and in the same moment it also feels wonderful.

"Our house," she croaks, wrapping her arms around his waist and he gives her a muddled glance, no doubt wondering what's gotten her so emotional.

Mike clears his throat and gives his watch an over-exaggerated inspection. "Well, look at the time," he says. "I really need to pop into town, go to the bank before it closes. Early on the weekends, you know?"

Kate makes to disentangle herself from Castle but Mike waves his hands dismissively. "No, no, folks. You guys stay up here for a while. Enjoy the view. I think I can trust you," he says with a wink. "Just pull the door closed hard when you leave, it sticks a little but will lock on its own. Take a look at the house too if you like," he adds. "Just mind your step on the balcony, the boards are rotten. Same goes for inside."

"Are you sure?" Castle inquires. "You won't get into any trouble letting us inside?"

"Well _I _won't be telling anyone. Will you?" he asks.

Castle grins and shakes his head negative with enthusiasm.

"That's what I thought." Mike grins. "I saw your lady almost dragging you away from it earlier." He points toward where the Ferrari is parked. "But if you ever wanna repay me…" He raises an eyebrow.

Castle laughs and throws him the keys. "Take it into town if you like."

"Whoa!" Mike says. His eyes are wide and yet still, glimmering with excitement. "I was kidding, you know. I'd be scared to death that I'd crash it."

"I've given it to worse for a joyride," Castle says innocently and Kate lets out a small growl beside him, a disgruntled huff of annoyance.

She can't help it. Jacinda is still a sore spot for her. Jealousy, thy name is Kate Beckett. It's irrational and she knows nothing ever happened between them but she had come so very close to telling him how she felt that night. She'd felt gut punched when he had roared into the crime scene with the Ferrari and the perky blonde.

"I was thinking of Alexis's boyfriend," he hushes into her ear but he squeezes her side in a soothing gesture and she knows that he's apologizing yet again for the "Limey Debacle" as he has been partial to calling it. She relaxes into his side and squeezes him in return. Her own apology, for bringing upon them the events of the previous spring, with her fear and uncertainty. The both realize they have wasted months, if not years, with their insecurities. They've promised each other not to dwell and she intends to keep that promise.

"It's true," she agrees with a smirk. "He has. Take the keys and floor it."

Mike still looks unsure, so Castle steps forward and starts to insist. Kate busies herself with her hand in his back pocket while Castle extolls the virtues of four hundred and ninety horsepower and the soundtrack that the engine provides when the top is down. She kneads the strong muscles and grins behind her hand when he clenches and releases twice in acknowledgment. She slides her hand out of his pocket and instead slips it down the back of his jeans, stifling a laugh when he gasps and tries to cover it with a cough.

Mike eventually admits that he would _love _to drive the machine as Castle gushes over torque and zero to one hundreds kilometers in three point eight seconds. Castle quickly shuffles him toward the door, with threats to the man's life if his baby comes back bruised; a laughing, "I trust you, don't worry," when Mike again starts to waffle on his decision.

"I'll be back in an hour, tops!" she hears Mike call as he descends the stairs.

"Mm, that's plenty of time," Castle growls, turning toward her with a mischievous glint in his eye.

"To go exploring?" she asks as innocently as she can manage.

"You know exactly what for, you're an evil tease, Katherine Beckett."

"I have no idea what you're talking about," she smirks.

* * *

He lunges and she falls into his arms as he pulls her toward him, they collide roughly against the railing that surrounds the lens. He takes a moment to cup her cheek and pull her close, drawn in by the fathomless pools of her eyes. They still glisten with the remnants of the tears that had filled them, just minutes ago. Her expression had been soft, wondrous, and a little shell-shocked, a deep shade of brown. He wracks his brain trying to remember what he had said that had caused her to be so deeply stirred but comes up with nothing. Now though, they shine a light amber with flecks of sparkling green, a tell that she's feeling mischievous. Well, it would have been a tell. Her nimble fingers slinking up and down his backside, while he tried to convince Mike to take the Ferrari, might have been the bigger clue.

Anticipation hangs in the air, heavy and charged with electricity. He's torn between studying her, unraveling a few more layers, worshipping at her feet and memorizing this particular shade of hazel; or simply ravishing her.

"You know exactly what I'm talking about Kate. I'm lucky I didn't give Mike the keys to the house as well, what with you distracting me like that."

She smirks and looks down at her watch. "Time's a wasting, Castle."

So he goes with option two. He's got a lifetime to learn the intricacies of Kate Beckett's ever-changing eye color, but he's only got an hour to have his way with her before the caretaker returns.

Quickly, he closes the space between their faces, hungrily pulling a lip into his mouth, dragging his teeth as he releases her and then plunging back in for more. She pulls at his shirt, trying to pull it up and over his head but he instead pins her hands to the railing, begins a fresh assault, this time on her neck. He knows how sensitive her neck is, the long muscle leading to the crevice above her collarbone. She mewls softly and tilts her head to the side to offer him greater access, he takes it as an invitation to mark her and so he does. He nips his way down the sensuous line of her neck, suckles his way over her collar bone, he leaves a trail of wet blotches. Her eyes are screwed tightly shut, her mouth open and gasping. He drops to his knees and she lets out a startled grunt that sounds a little like annoyance when she realizes his mouth is no longer on her neck. He grins. She won't be complaining for long. He presses his mouth to her inner thigh and bites down. Not hard enough to hurt, the rough fabric of her jeans prevents that, but with enough pressure to denote his intentions. Her eyes pop open, wide and seemingly shocked at his position at her feet.

It turns out he can both worship at her feet _and_ ravish her. And they say that men can't multi-task. He leers up at her and she fists a hand into his hair. It's all the invitation he needs to pop open the button on her jeans and pull them down around her ankles. She keeps enough pressure on his hair though, that he can't just plunge right in without losing a sizable chunk. Cupping one hand under his chin to keep him away from his prize, she looks down at him with a soft smile. "I love you," she husks, a hint of that same dark shade returning for just a moment before the bright liveliness is back. And then she releases her grip and his head drops to her waist, his forehead falling between her hips, his mouth at her pubic bone. She cards her fingers through his hair and he breaths in her scent.

"You smell good," he mouths into her pelvis, breathing in her arousal, smiling as her hips jerk toward him as he lays a sloppy kiss on her hip. "Love you, too."

Grinning like a fool, he makes his way down her inner thigh, suckling on the soft flesh and gently sinking his teeth into her skin. He looks up, finds her with eyes closed, eyelashes fluttering and knuckles white as they grip the rails. Kissing, licking, tasting, he makes his way around her center, avoids the spot he so desperately wants to savor. He's so turned on right now he fears he won't last long, he intends to draw this out for her, make her scream his name before he can cry hers.

"Castle, please…" she moans, arching her back and letting her hands fall to his shoulders. Her strong fingers dig into the muscles of his back, urging him to her center. "Please…" she repeats.

Her moan is too much. He can't take it anymore. He wraps his hands around her thighs, spreads her legs a little wider and his mouth quickly finds the small nub at the top of her opening. He lets his tongue dart out. Once. Twice. A quick flick and then a long and slow swirl. Her lips are swollen with arousal and he sucks one into his mouth, eliciting a sharp intake of breath and a quiver of her thighs in response. He draws back, catches her eye and smiles as he rubs her bundle of nerves with his thumb.

"Don't be such a tease," she moans. She throws her head back and cries out as he increases the pressure.

"Says the woman who had her hands down my pants while in the company of that lovely man. Feeling a little possessive were we?" he murmurs into her. He removes his thumb and looks up, waits with a smirk for her to reply. He likes it when she's jealous. Partly because she so vehemently denies it and she is cute when she's mad, mostly because she always concedes and he's glad he's not the only one with a constant chant of "_mine, mine, mine" _running though his head.

"Shut up," she grunts, as an embarrassed smile passes across her face. Her cheeks turn a rosy shade of pink and her eyes slip shut as she ducks her head down. Her hair falls in front of her face, creating a curtain for her to hide behind.

He grins and focuses his attention on her slit. Her folds glisten and he drags a finger along the line, drawing a sharp hiss from her mouth. He inserts a finger, and then two, hooks his fingers toward her front wall with long, even strokes and smiles as she moans his name.

"Mm, so wet for me," he purrs before once more lowering his mouth to her clit. Her body begins to shake as he laps at her opening. She is all heat and musk, and the aroma drives him wild. "I'm gonna make you come, Kate," he mumbles into her groin. Her fingers clench into his shoulders, her nails bite into his skin and he knows she is so very close. He lays the rough flat of his tongue along her opening, circles around, up and down, greedily taking her in. A thrust of his tongue, followed by a gathering of his reward. He lets the tip of his tongue push between her lips, flicks at her clit. It is semi controlled chaos as he struggles to maintain coherence. He could come just from the taste of her; the sight of her, writhing above his face. It's fast, then slow, clenching thighs and shaky knees, harsh expletives and keening whispers until she finally...

"Castle… wait… stop!"

What now? She was there. She was _right_ there and suddenly she jerking his head away and rushing to railing by the windows overlooking the ocean. Well, as fast as one can rush with their pants around their ankles. It's actually kind of cute, if exceedingly confusing.

"Uh… Kate?" he says, jumping up off the floor and wobbling a little as all the blood rushes back to his head.

She struggles to pull up her jeans and he shakes his head to try and clear his mind as he again asks, "Kate?"

"Look!" she says, pointing to a small boat speeding along the coast. The jeans finally slip over her ass and he sighs, resigned to putting a hold on the sex and figuring out what has stolen her attention.

He stands behind her, pushes his erection into the small of her back and she melts back into him a little.

"Obviously, I'm a little wound up here, so maybe I'm missing something important but why, pray tell, are we looking at a boat when we could be…"

He lets the sentence trail off and slides a hand down her still unbuttoned jeans. She shudders as his fingers glide over her still damp folds.

"The boat…" she quakes, as his index finger flits from side to side. "It came…"

"I'm glad someone did," he smirks into her ear.

"From over there," she huffs, pointing towards what looks like a cliff jutting out over the sea. "How is that possible, Castle?"

"Maybe you missed something while I was…"

"No, Castle," she chokes as his finger dips inside for a moment. "I was looking out over the ocean, and suddenly there was a boat. Out of … oh god… out of nowhere."

He doesn't know whether he should be offended that she managed to pay attention to anything while his mouth was suckling on her clit or impressed that she managed to multitask so much better than he ever would have been able to had their positions been reversed. Still, if the noises were any indication - noises very similar to what's emanating from her now - then he must be doing something right. He hooks his fingers around the belt loops of her jeans and again slides them back down her thighs. When he hears no complaints, he unbuckles his belt and unzips his own jeans.

"I think," he whispers into her neck, causing her to shiver and then pushing her body down over the railing and toward the windows so that her forehead is resting up against the glass, "that we should investigate this further."

He's not sure if he's referring to the enigmatic boat, that's now just a small red dot on the horizon, or the slippery warmth that he is just dying to probe further. He's certain it's the latter when she moans, deep and guttural.

"Mm," she agrees, leaning over a little further, opening herself up to him. "We should…"

He angles himself at her entrance, the tip of his penis just slightly dipping into her wet heat. Apparently she has forgotten about the boat, he can feel her clenching and he hasn't even entered her yet. He runs his shaft up and down her dripping center, coating himself in her arousal. She turns and looks back at him, a dirty leer on her beautiful face. "Later." She grins.

She can't be serious. There's no way he is reading this wrong. She has to be toying with him. Were they talking about the boat? Or the sex? God, he can't think when her heat is so tantalizingly close. He pulls back and she frowns. "Later?" he questions, his hands running up and down her sides, his fingers toying with the sides of her breasts.

"The boat!" she huffs, reaching around and pulling him back to her opening. "For god's sake, Castle, will you just stick it in and do me already?"

He laughs and she narrows her gaze. He likes it when she talks dirty; likes it even more when it's because she is desperate for him inside of her.

"You're the one who instigated this little sidetrack, I'll have you note," he smiles, grasping her hands and linking fingers with her, holding them the wooden rail. Again he slides around her folds. "I was quite happy to be oblivious to mystery boats and the picturesque view. But now that you mention it…"

He keeps up a steady rhythm, almost but never quite entering her. She arches her back, raises her hips to meet him and tries to guide him inside, but he's having none of it. Over and over he glides over her length. "It really is a marvelous view," he finishes with a grin.

His voice unfortunately doesn't carry quite the confidence he had hoped for. It comes out as something of a stuttering grunt as she snatches a hand away from his grip, reaches her fingers down in front of herself, to her entrance, and forces him inside on his next stroke. One quick slip and he is buried deep inside her. Her inner walls are hot and quivering, soft and so very wet. He looks down to where their bodies are joined; fantastic view indeed. He runs a hand softly over one cheek, squeezing and causing her to groan and buck her hips.

"You ready?" he asks, knowing the answer yet enjoying the sweet torment of being surrounded by her; the clamping of her muscles, the shallow breath. It's leaving condensation on the windows and the air surrounding them humid.

"Castle…" she warns.

He takes his cue before she considers bodily harm, there's way too many dangly things she could grab onto right about now. He slides almost all the way out, slowly and deliberately, just barely staying inside and then ruthlessly pushes back in. He repeats the action until she is panting and pleading his name; he wants to come, needs to come. It's almost painful, sweet torture, he's so hard and her moaning is almost sending him over the edge, but she's not quite there yet. He could reach around and stroke her clit, bring her to orgasm within seconds, and even though they are in the midst of a lustful quickie with precious little time until Mike returns, he really wants to watch her face as she releases.

He stops moving and she lets out a small mewl of displeasure. He slips out and she groans at the loss. He turns her around and she grins wickedly as he lifts her up onto the rail.

"I wanted to see your face," he shrugs and she smiles and nips at his chin.

She adjusts quickly to the new position and before he knows it, she's crying out his name again and meeting him thrust for thrust.

"Kate… I can't…" he utters.

"Open your eyes, Castle," she hisses into his neck. "Come with me."

His mouth is dry and his breathing is ragged, he didn't even realize he'd closed them. He curses and she wraps her legs tightly around his waist, they rock against each other and her fingernails dig mercilessly into his sides as she scratches and clings to his ribcage. It adds fuel to the already blazing fire inside of him and he moves with heightened passion. Three sharp thrusts, the involuntary contraction of her muscles and it isn't long before stars are exploding behind his eyes. He stills, and then erupts inside of her, his jaw set into a tight grimace, her name of the tip of his tongue. She gasps for air in his ear and as he slowly comes down from his high her name finally escapes in a whisper.

"Kate… that was…"

"Yeah," she agrees, disentangling herself and hopping down to the floor. "Yeah, it was."

* * *

**Mucho love to the usual suspects. **

**To Avi, for allowing me to wallow in procrastination and not making me cry or feel guilty about it. To Nic, for finding erroneous words and reminding me that I _can_ actually write when I want to. **

**To the rest of you, thanks! I appreciate anyone who is still reading after my flagrant show of postponement and stalling. Forgive me?**


	15. Chapter 15

Sweat cools on the exposed areas of her body, she shivers and attempts to rearrange her bunched up clothing as her breathing returns to normal. Her shirt sticks to the dip in her lower back, damp and uncomfortable. She looks out the window and watches as the trees sway in the breeze and the cool water ripples in the midday sun, it looks heavenly and she wants to go outside.

"We should…"

Kate looks toward Castle; he's slumped over the railing, still catching his breath, his pants bunched around his ankles.

"Do it again?" he asks, waggling his eyebrows in an attempt at a leer. But his breathing is still ragged and his face is red; it falls flat and she stifles a laugh at his expense.

"Wouldn't want you to hurt yourself old man," she grins. "Come on, get up."

She offers him a hand, pulls him to standing and he lays a sloppy kiss on her cheek.

"I am not…" he bends down to pull up his jeans and his knees pop as he stands back up. "Old," he cringes.

She laughs and pats him on the shoulder. "It's okay, Ricky, I still love you."

He mutters and grumbles as he rearranges his clothes. She takes the moment to admire his muscles as they flex and bulge under the thin cotton of his shirt. He might be older, but he's got a hell of a body on him. She wonders why he's always trying to hide it under bulky coats and loose fitting pants while they are in the city. It's probably for the best though, they'd never get any work done and Gates would kick him out of the precinct within a week. Acceptance of their relationship is one thing, public displays entirely another.

She heads down the metal stairs ahead of him, her low heels clanging on the treads; she remembers seeing a small bathroom on a lower level. He needs a moment to recover and she could use a minute to freshen up. The small latrine is updated; modern, clean and, thankfully, not a relic of the past. Inside she finds soap and paper towels and she sighs in relief. She thinks that if they are going to continue with these impromptu couplings, she's going to have to start carrying supplies.

She rolls her eyes at herself in the mirror and watches as the blush creeps up her face and settles on her cheeks. Her hair is tangled and unruly, damp around the edges. Her perfume and the lingering smell of perspiration hangs heavy in the air of the small, enclosed space. Only with Castle would she get herself into these predicaments. Despite her teasing earlier in the week about going 'al fresco', she's never been one to just go at it wherever the mood strikes. She's been a little wild in the privacy of a bedroom before, has pushed boundaries to enjoy stolen moments in stairwells and darkened clubs, but she's never been confident enough, until she met Castle, to indulge in some of her more extravagant fantasies. He brings out the best, and possibly the worst she thinks with a leer at her reflection, in her.

Castle's waiting for her as she leaves the washroom; he gives her a knowing grin and she punches his arm. They make sure to pull the door hard behind them as they leave like Mike instructed. It closes with a resounding metal clang and Kate excitedly leads the way down to the shore, not paying any attention to whether Castle is following her or not.

The breeze feels wonderful; it lifts her hair from her shoulders, exposes the damp tendrils and cools the base of her neck. The scent of fresh cut grass and salty ocean travels on the draft and she inhales deeply. She comes to a sudden halt as she reaches the end of the bright green lawn. A rocky overhanging and a precarious path lead to a patchy stretch of beach and jagged rocks below. She bends over to scan the area, tries to figure out a game plan for scaling the trail.

Castle is still not by her side and she straightens and turns to look back towards the lighthouse. He is staring in her direction but his focus is anywhere but her eyes. His mouth hangs slightly open and his head is tilted to the side, his face an expression of sheer lust. She imagines she'd find drool if she was close enough to see. Honestly, she's rather impressed. Apparently, even steamy lighthouse sex doesn't calm his insatiable need for her. She grins as his eyes slowly trail up her body to meet hers. He has the good graces to flush a little and bite his lip, his face morphing into an adorable picture of false innocence.

"You coming, Castle?"

"Just did," he smirks. "But I'd be happy to try again."

She rolls her eyes and he starts toward her, stuttering to a stop halfway across the lawn.

"Kate, wait!" She raises an eyebrow in question.

"Hey! I'm a poet." She snorts and closes the gap between them.

"A bad one maybe. What is it, Castle?"

"We should wait for Mike. I gave away our ride, remember?"

Crap! She was eager to go exploring on the beach, to try and find out where the boat came from. Still, behind Castle the house looms, mysterious and tragic. She knows how much he wants to go inside and they've got time to kill.

"Come on," she says, pulling him by the hand and in the direction of the house. "We'll be able to hear the car from inside."

"Yes!" he cries.

She chuckles and he takes the lead, eagerly hurrying to the porch. She tugs on his hand to hold him back as they reach the steps.

"Careful, Castle," she warns. Sometimes he really is a nine year old on a sugar rush and he makes her feel like an over-protective mother hen. "Rotten boards, remember? I am _not_ hauling your ass out of here if you fall and break a leg."

He rolls his eyes and drops her hand, makes a show of tiptoeing onto the first step. It groans and creaks, but holds his weight. He grins triumphantly and offers her a hand up. She rolls her eyes right back at him but accepts his outstretched arm.

"Just be careful and _try_ to show a little restraint," she grumbles.

"When am I not the very model of restraint and self-control? I am a veritable illustration of moral fortitude, Beckett."

"You really want a list?" she asks, quirking an eyebrow and grinning at him. "And who said anything about morals?" she questions, throwing her gaze back toward the light house and grinning.

"Yeah… No… You're right. Moving along."

He beams at her for a moment and turns toward the front door. She follows carefully behind him, holding her breath in anticipation. She'd never admit it, but she's just as excited about venturing into the abandoned home as he is.

* * *

He senses Kate's mood lifting as they enter, excitement pouring off her in waves.

His mood sours. The house is a gloomy figment of the past. Streaks of black and brown smudge and stain a once heavy coat of paint; mold and mildew obscuring what once would have been a cheery yellow. Thick flakes of chipping paint collect around the perimeter of the room, joining an opaque layer of dust and the remains of ill-fated creepy-crawlies. What must have once been expensive furniture sits rotting; the wood damp and soft, the upholstery stained with lichen and yellowed with age. Once-delicate lace curtains, hang limp and shredded. The air smells of mothballs and the fetid remains of dead rodents; damp earth and old socks. It makes his stomach turn. The place is stagnant, dense with foreboding and sadness. An involuntary shiver runs down his spine as a floorboard groans beneath his feet.

"Oh! Castle, look!"

Her happy voice snaps him out of his reverie. He turns and finds her fingering an old photo frame. Smiling back out at him are William and Charlotte. Charlotte is wearing her wedding dress, an elegant silk number, short and stylish for the time. A billowing train wraps around her and Williams feet and on her head is a glittering tiara. William is decked out in tails, dashing and gazing with adoration at his new bride. They made a beautiful couple. And yet Charlotte's eyes… there's a hint of sadness, even on what should have been their most happy of days. There's a faraway depth to her gaze, a longing and a deep ache, carefully hidden but not completely concealed. It punches him in the gut; he's seen that look before. He's seen it on Kate. It's been months, more… perhaps years, but it still hurts. He hurts for her; he hurts for all that could have been lost. For what he might have become had she not arrived rain-soaked and remorseful at his front door on that stormy night.

He wonders if Kate had died on that rooftop, or had they reached their breaking point and not fought tooth and nail to patch themselves back together, if a lonely existence in a crumbling estate would have been his future. Would he have spent the rest of his days slowly waiting for the inevitable? Would he have given up on living in a quest to catch up with his past? He likes to think he would have held on. That Alexis and his mother would have pulled him up and through the worst of it. But he holds serious doubts. Because although it's Kate's line, he's also the "one and done" type. Now that he knows what a 'done' actually feels like. There would be no going back if anything ever happened to her, to them. There would be no moving on from her. No, he's thoroughly _done._

"Castle?"

Her voice is tender and soft, curious but laced with concern. He wonders if Charlotte ever offered William words of comfort. Did they have their moments? Was there a point in time where he felt like nothing could go wrong, like he'd found his one?

"What's wrong?"

He looks up and searches her face. Her gaze is silent but powerful. It offers an extraordinary glimpse into her soul. It's as though she senses his unrest, can tell he's again equating their relationship with William and Charlotte's. And so she waits, offers him everything he needs without a single word. Her regard is open and relaxed; she wears a contented smile on her face, her eyes a deep green, vibrant and clear. She holds out a hand and he takes it. Her touch is soft but full of quiet strength. Her skin is warm, their palms barely touch but her fingers are laced closely through his. She squeezes, once, tightly, and their hands meld together. He locks his thumb, trapping her against him, thrilling in the jolt of electricity that travels up his arms, sending hot tendrils of hope throughout his body.

His eyes flit back to the picture in Kate's other hand; her grip is tight and a little shaky. Her eyes follow his and he watches as she pales. Does she think... she couldn't, could she? They _just _talked about this, the conversation had ended fairly quickly but they had been on the same page. He gets the sinking feeling in his stomach that in his moment of uncertainty, he might have unwittingly planted a seed of doubt into her own mind.

A sudden memory assaults his mind; a flippant comment meant to gain a laugh, one he now realizes was well within earshot of the woman he intends to marry. Another seed he had added to her insecurities. _"It's as if the thought of marriage fill him with a sense of impending doom. No wait… That's me." _

Fuck. He has to do something. He has to stop this downward spiral of misunderstanding. He knows what he wants to do. He's not at all prepared; but it's intimate, and he could totally turn a proposal in what some would call a haunted house into one hell of a big story. She will be able to give him crap for years about not having a ring for her. She'd enjoy that actually. It's truly kind of perfect. The more he thinks about it, the more he's sure it's the correct path to take. He takes a deep breath and watches as she lets out a lungful of her own held air.

How long has he been standing here lost in thought?

"Castle?" she whispers. Her voice is shaky and he swallows a lump in his throat.

"Marry me."

The frame topples from her hand and lands with a clatter on the table. Her jaw drops open, closes and opens again.

"No," she says.

* * *

**Two updates in as many days! Don't go getting used to this or anything. I'm notoriously flighty and have work for the rest of the week.  
**

**I intended to move the case along quite a bit this chapter. I tried. I _really _did. And then Castle went all schmoopy on me and Kate had an icky moment that needed to be addressed. And then _she_ got a little schmoopy herself. Sheesh! You can't control these characters! **

**Also, please don't kill me for leaving it there. But feel free to leave me a review to spur me onward. **

**Two corrections from Avi and she says I'm "good to go". I sputtered a little. **


	16. Chapter 16

"Marry me," he says, simply. But his eyes show the heartfelt meaning behind the two simple words. The love and the promise of always.

_Yes_, her heart screams. _Yes, yes, yes! _

"No," her traitorous mind supplies instead, her mouth uttering the words before she's even had time to think. Wait… _what?_

His face falls and her heart cracks a little as the worry lines deepen on his brow. She needs to explain. Quickly.

She needs to explain that she has every intention of marrying him someday; maybe even someday soon. But this is all wrong, because his proposal shouldn't make her panic. Should it? Her heart is racing and her hands are sweating, her mouth is dry and the words are _right there._ Yes Rick, I'd love to be your wife. So why won't they come out?

It was intimate, she'll give him that. Two simple words, yet an entire tome had been written into his gaze, speaking volumes of his devotion to her.

She can imagine the story he would weave. He'd paint a picture of the idyllic lighthouse and the haunted house. He'd craft a speech, much longer than the two perfect words he had just spoken. She'd privately laugh at him and call him out on his propaganda, but publically she'd go along with it. She hates to admit it, but she kind of likes the swaggering persona he puts on for the public. She'd say that it was his words that finally won her over. The press would expect a story like that between the writer and his muse. It would definitely be big.

God, she wants to say _yes_. She wants to shout it from rooftops and write it in the sky. So why isn't she saying it?

Maybe because they haven't talked about it. One thing she's learned over the past few months is how important these discussions have become; how disastrous it ends up when they _don't_ talk about the big issues. And until this week he has studiously avoided the topic, as has she. The future, marriage, had been strictly off-limits. Him, too scared to frighten her away; and her, too nervous of what his reactions might be. This is the man who claimed marriage filled him with a sense of impending doom, the man with two failed marriages under his belt. And if it wasn't broken now, if their life together was so utterly seamless, why fix it? It was only his slip of the tongue in the street and their round-about discussion on him having more children that even brought it to the forefront.

Then it hits her._ She_ was the one who had essentially told him to ask her. And she just said _no._

"Ka…"

She cuts him off before she can do any more damage. "Rick… I … It's not a _no_-no"

"So it's a yes?"

_Is it?_ No, not yet. She needs a little time. To process and think things through. It's what she does. She's never been one to jump in without a life-preserver.

"No."

"No…" His brow furrows, "It's a _maybe_?"

God, she's really screwing this up. "Shit. Will you just shut up for a second? Castle, I _want_ to say yes. Everything within me is screaming at me to say yes."

He looks thoroughly confused. His forehead is crinkled, his eyes dart back and forward and she fears she's losing his trust with every passing second. He's bewildered, and he has every right to be.

"So say yes, Kate."

"I… can't. Not yet," she pleads, gripping his arm and pleading with her eyes for him to understand what she can't quite put into words. "We've never really talked about this Castle. And we should. Shouldn't we? I mean, we both know that this is where we are headed, sooner or later."

His face relaxes a fraction.

"I don't doubt that, Rick. You know that… _right_? I don't doubt us."

Dive in, she tells herself. _Dive in!_ She looks into his eyes, so clear blue and understanding. Her hands twist in the sleeves of her shirt, her fingers clenching and releasing the material. She feels her lip wobbling and bites down to stop the tremble. Something's got to give, but she doesn't have the words to describe what she's feeling without hurting his feelings.

"You doubt me," he says.

He doesn't sound hurt. He says it plain and matter of fact, as though he's suspected it all along. And she realizes that though she wants to reassure him that it isn't the case, perhaps in some part, it is.

She has only just found out the reason it ended with Meredith. She'll admit it had eased a lot of her fears, knowing that it wasn't his playboy ways that had broken the marriage. She knows that the image is a cover for the man he truly is anyway, that it was a result of the hurt he had endured at the hands of his first wife. But she also knows that he rushed into it with his second. Well-meaning as it may have been, his marriage to Gina had ended in disaster as well. They have only been dating for five months, who's to say that history won't repeat itself? _Four years, _her capricious mind provides. Move over politicians, there's a new flip-flopper in town.

His track record is less than stellar though, and as much as she knows that it's different between them, as much as she feels it with every fiber of her being, it's just _there_, the nagging doubt in the back of her mind. It's not like _she _has had the best past experiences. She'd once told him she was surprised that he went for real; the previous few months have proved to her that she has done a pretty good job of falling into shallow relationships herself. She wants to be _sure._ She just doesn't know how to get there, how to get past her own insecurities and dive in.

"Maybe I do doubt you," she murmurs in a low voice. Her lower lip trembles and she searches his gaze, begging him to understand. "Or..." she looks at him, confusion haunting her eyes, "maybe it's me I doubt."

As a team they are unstoppable, as separate entities they have a history of hurting one another. How can she make him understand that all the years of guarding her heart have left her terrified of taking what's right there in front of her? She wills herself to open her soul to him; to let him see in her gaze, her expression, her posture, everything that she can't express in words. She hates herself for continuing to hurt this man.

His eyes soften, yet she sees the unmistakable sheen of tears pooling at the rims of his eyes. He pulls her into his chest, hugs her closely, wrapping his arms around her shoulders and breathing into her hair. Whether it's for comfort, or just to hide his emotions, she takes it. She takes his love and offers her own in return. She melts into him, nuzzling into his neck and breathing in his musky scent. The room appears to still, time slowing and noise fading. It's just the two of them and their soft breaths, in synch and relaxed; her doubts recede into the ether as his fingers lightly trace back and forth over the ridges of her spine.

"What can I do?" he whispers.

"It's not _you,_ Castle, it's…" she starts.

He softly chuckles, and the rumbling warmth seeps into her ribcage, soothes the pinprick of tears in her eyes. "If you finish that sentence, Kate... I swear to god… It's _us. _And besides,I could _never_ marry someone who falls back onto such tired and clichéd lines."

Her heart tightens at the mere thought and panic bubbles around in her chest. If she's ruined this, she'll never forgive herself. She might have been frightened when he'd asked her to marry him but she's downright terrified now.

She pulls out of his grasp, looks up and finds him smiling down at her, eyes twinkling and a self-satisfied grin adorning his face. He's kidding, thank god. He's falling back on his habit of flippant teasing to ease the tension; of course he is. She berates herself for the moment of anxiety. Will she ever learn to simply trust? She breathes a sigh of relief and his smile grows wider. He must have seen the panic on her face however, because he looks unequivocally smug right now. She offers him a wry grin in return.

Maybe she needed that moment though; because suddenly she wants him to ask again. He gives so much in this relationship and she wants to give back. Suddenly, she's sure. She could say yes, she could ignore her infuriating inner-voice and just have faith; in him, in herself, in _them._ Like the cheeky man-child he can sometimes be, he just went and pushed her off the diving board and into the deep end. She doesn't have to learn trust, she has to _give _it.

"We'll talk about it tonight," he says softly, sincerity and conviction lacing his words. It's a promise.

She loves him for it; for letting it go for now. She has ruined the moment with her doubts and as much as she wants to take the last few minutes back, it's better this way. She nods and tentatively touches her lips to his. He responds with a tender press of his mouth to hers and a whispered, "I love you," against her jaw.

Silently, she pulls back so she can look into his eyes. Nodding slowly and swiping with one hand at a tear that has escaped, she mouths, "Me too."

Her hair falls forward and before she can brush it back, he sweeps it from her brow, cups her chin and tucks the strand behind her ear; an affectionate gesture that he doesn't even think about.

She feels his warm breath on her face as he moves in and she parts her lips, leans in and yields to the forgiving power of his kiss. The caress of his lips is soft, tender and familiar. Soothing and full of promise. She traces his mouth with her tongue, probes deeply and is rewarded by answering suckles of her lip in return. She cradles his face in her hands and he bites down, the same spot she worries when trying to work out a problem, the same spot that's already swollen from her brutal attacks of the last few minutes. The sharp bite of pain followed by a soothing of his tongue and suction of his lips engulfs her, sets her aflame as he advances in intensity and passion. She is consumed by him; body, heart and soul. She wonders what she ever was worried about. Married or not, she's already in too deep; her only option is to swim.

The roar of a V8 engine ascends, the rumble coming fast down the driveway, and reluctantly they pull apart, their breathing labored and heavy. Dust streaks her shirt where he has pushed her up against an old tabletop and his hair is standing straight up, wayward spikes from where her hands have carded through his sweaty strands. She goes about flattening his hair, while he brushes at her outfit. Their eyes lock and she feels her face flush with warmth. They really have to start thinking about showing a modicum of self-control while out in public.

"You should ask me again," she advises him. He nods slowly and she watches as understanding dawns on his features, a knowing grin spreading across his face. "Just… not today," she clarifies with a raised brow, in case he has any thoughts of dropping to a knee.

"Mm," he agrees, "I should. But next time, I'll do it right. I'm going to buy you a big fat ring, and I will embarrass you somewhere completely public and out in the open. You've had intimate, Kate. Next time, it's going to be _big. _Prepare yourself, because it's going to be something that you will never forget and you definitely _won't_ be able to weasel your way out of."

She doesn't want to weasel. "I'll be looking forward to it, Rick."

He beams and pulls her to his side, leading her towards the door.

"But just so you know, _this_ is the one I'll remember. You did it right, Castle. You did it perfect. I'm sorry for ruining it."

"You didn't ruin anything," he assures her. "But don't worry," he grins, "I'll be sure to bring it up frequently anyway. How you rejected me and broke my heart, held out for the bling."

She leans out of his embrace, rolls her eyes and punches him in arm. "Shut up, Castle."

"Come on," he chuckles, "Let's go get our baby back from Mike."

_Our baby._ That's twice in the span of an hour that he's unconsciously used the joint term and twice in the same hour that she's felt nothing but joy and hope with its use. Yeah, he's committed alright and she's sure. She squeezes his waist as they walk back out onto the porch and he presses a kiss into her hair.

Mike waves and happily runs up to meet them at the foot of the steps. "Oh my god!" he cries, as he hands over the keys. "That was awesome."

Castle laughs and claps him on the back. "She's a pretty sweet ride, right?"

"That would be the understatement of the year, Richard. You're lucky I brought her back." He grins. "So how did you like the house? Did you see any ghosts, find a mystery you could work into your next book?"

"It_ was_ pretty eye-opening," Castle says, shooting a loving glance in her direction. "But I get the feeling that whatever happened in that house is a mystery that I'm never gonna solve."

She chuffs a laugh at his recycled line and leans her head into his shoulder to let him know she remembers. Their gazes catch and the moment draws out, both of them remembering that night.

"Strength, heart…" he says with a smile.

"Hotness," she replies with a smirk.

Mike lets out an uncomfortable clearing of his throat and they quickly return their attention to the present.

"Feel free to roam about the place," he says. "But I've got to be on my way home."

They thank him profusely for letting them explore the place freely and he gushes a little more about the Ferrari before retreating to an old and beat-up Jeep parked by the gate. The paint is sun-damaged and the logo on the side barely readable.

"Donation box is by the welcome sign," he calls with a wink. "The park service could use a new ride."

"Noted," Castle calls, as he leads Kate towards the car. The Jeep starts with a sputter and then roars to life. Mike speeds off with a wave and the Ferrari beeps as Castle hits the fob to unlock the doors.

"Wait," she says. She hears the roar of the ocean as the sound of the Jeep's engine fades away. "We never went down to the beach."

He hits the fob again and the car lets out two beeps as the door once more lock. "Well what are we waiting for?" he cries, "A mystery we actually have a chance of solving!"

* * *

**Thanks to Deb, for digging me out of the hole I dug myself into. **


	17. Chapter 17

_ Previously:_

_"Wait," she says. She hears the roar of the ocean as the sound of the Jeep's engine fades away. "We never went down to the beach."_

_He hits the fob again and the car lets out two beeps as the door again lock. "Well what are we waiting for?" he cries, "A mystery we actually have a chance of solving!"_

* * *

The hike down to the ocean is treacherous. They grapple trees and rocks as they navigate through switchbacks and areas where the path is barely inches wide. Sharp rocks jut out from the face of the cliff and more than once he finds himself slipping on mossy shale and cursing under his breath. Still, the view is stunning and the lure of the hidden cove undeniable. Kate bounces down the path with remarkable grace, slips off her shoes and rolls up her pant legs as she reaches the sand; he finds himself breathless but smiling by the time he reaches the bottom.

"I had no idea this beach even existed," he puffs as he comes up to her side.

"It's beautiful," she says, looking out toward the ocean.

She's beautiful, he thinks. Strands of her hair billow and play in the wind, the breeze pulling at the curls and tossing it around her face. Her cheeks are tinged pink and her skin glows warm and tanned in the afternoon light.

The cove is almost too big to be called that. A small bay would be a better description. The beach is long and surprisingly wide in spots, protected on either side by massive cliffs that keep the idyllic shoreline hidden and untouched. Clouds gather overhead, filtering out the sunshine, and rain threatens on the horizon; it lends a dark and foreboding sense to the ocean, the water a deeper shade of blue, and the waves, frothy and turbulent as they crash onto the shore. They should make this exploration quick if they want to make their way back up the path in one piece. He fears the trail would be impassable if slicked with rain.

"Okay, so a boat landed here," he says, surveying the area. "Why? And where?" The beach seems undisturbed and desolate; there are no signs of recent activity. He's still not entirely sure that the boat she'd seen had come ashore. She _had_ been preoccupied at the time; at least he certainly hopes she had. Nevertheless, he'd follow her anywhere and a stroll on the beach at her side is hardly an inconvenience.

"Over there," she says, pointing to a spot far in the distance where seagulls squawk and fight over something in the sand, their white bodies flapping wildly as they rise over a dune and descend again to attack their prize. "Let's go and check it out."

He follows from a slightly behind, enjoying the view, smiling as he appreciates the play of muscles in her calves, the tightening and relaxing as she treads through the damp sand. They come upon the rise and as they reach its crest the gulls fly off in a loud crescendo of squawking. The shore narrows as the rocky perimeter comes to a close around the cove.

"You're right," he says, "someone _was _here."

A box lays discarded on the beach, the logo of a local fast food joint lively red and out of place in the bright white sand. The box is torn and shredded, a few fries remain, evidence of what the gulls had been fighting over. Footprints lead from the box in either direction, two sets, fading to nothing at the shores edge where the water swirls and recedes and leading to the rock face in the other. By the footprints is another trail, a wide square path, as though something had been dragged toward the water's edge.

"Cooler?" he questions, although it rings untrue even to his own ears. Who packs a picnic and then picks up fast food along the way?

"It looks heavy by the depth of these tracks, and besides, they got take-out. Plus... why drag it all the way up there?"

She points toward the rock face, a vertical wall of brown and grey. Rocks hang precariously on the edge higher up, an overhang of brush and boulders that seems to defy gravity. He shudders, he wouldn't want to hang around under the ledge for too long; it looks unstable and hazardous.

"Shade?" he hedges.

She raises a brow in response, no doubt taking in the same details he just had. "Personally, I'd risk the sunburn."

"Shall we?" he asks, gesturing to the trail, waggling his eyebrows and receiving the eye-roll he expected. He grins. She's already three paces ahead of him, following the track of flattened sand and leaving him to stare after her.

He runs after her and wraps an arm around her waist, pulling her in for a kiss before letting his hand drop to hers and linking their fingers together. They follow until they reach the cliff face, circling rocky boulders and driftwood; the flattened sand path leads them to a concealed opening in the wall. She gasps as the entrance is revealed.

"This is so cool!" he cries as they enter the cave.

His voice echoes around the cool, dark cavern, the sounds of the ocean baffled by the thick rock walls. Slats of light filter in from the entrance and from small fissures in the ceiling above; it takes a moment for his eyes to fully adjust, before he can take in the full beauty of this hidden gem. The ceiling is low but the cavern is wide with a shallow tide pool, still and serene in the center of the grotto. Small crabs skitter across some rocks at the water's edge. The air is crisp and clean smelling, thick with salt and wet earth. A breeze, that impossibly seems to come from further inside the cave, ruffles his hair.

He sighs happily as she ventures further into the cave. Droplets falling from the ceiling leave ripples that distort the water, and he contents himself for a moment by peering into the water and making faces.

"You coming, Rick?" he hears echoing across the cavern, and he realizes she's quite a way ahead of him. He likes her voice; smooth as silk and sweet like honey. He likes it even more with the reverberation from the rocks walls. He wonders if he could coax her into singing.

"Castle…" He hears the waver in her voice and it's enough to snap him out of his reverie. "I'm getting a bad feeling about this."

He straightens and catches up to her on the far side of the cave. Drag marks are all around the muddy floor, deeper and more pronounced as they descend into the abyss. Discarded soda cans and spent cigarettes line the perimeter; the cave has seen a lot of use and yet there is nothing obviously pointing to what that use might be. There is a foreboding feeling in the air and the heavy silence is punctuated only by a steady drip where water leaks somewhere in the distance; it makes the hairs on the back of his neck stand at attention. He sees a flashlight on top of a broken pallet and lets out a sigh of relief when it flares to life at his touch.

The sudden beam of luminance brings the cave into stark relief, revealing a series of tunnels and passageways leading in various directions, away from the shore. He is surprised to find beams and supports in the ceiling, gas lanterns lining the walls of two of the wider passages.

"Pick a tunnel, any tunnel," he says with a weak smile, gesturing for Kate to decide. Foreboding might have been an understatement; the voice in his head is waving its fists and screaming a sinister tirade.

She shrugs and takes the tunnel furthest to the right, a wide and winding hole with the most evidence of human activity. He pictures an irate little man throwing his hands in the air and storming off stage as he unsurprisingly follows her without question. They walk for a few minutes, at times having to bend almost doubled over to accommodate the low roof. It smells damp and sea-weedy the further they travel, and Kate eventually suggests they go back.

"I don't think there's anything up here, Castle."

"Then why the lamps? Why all the trash? Somebody has been using this cave and I don't for a minute think it's for legal causes. Do you?"

"No," she admits with a sigh. "Something definitely feels fishy about this place."

It has all the hallmarks of a covert operation. Hidden coves and secret passageways, it's totally going in his next book. _What _exactly they are onto… he has no idea. But he's not willing to turn back yet. It's more than just a local hangout for teenagers or in the know tourists. Churning stomach and feeling of dread or not, it's in his nature to follow through and discover the whole story.

Kate stops short and points ahead. "It's looks like they've cleared out, and in a hurry by the looks of it."

The tunnel opens into another cavern, smaller than the first but well maintained. It looks more like a basement than a cave under the earth. The walls are squared off and framed with thick beams of wood; shelves line the walls, free of dust, looking like they've recently been used. Scattered on the floor is a tool box and more food wrappers, ropes and another flashlight, some empty water bottles. A dozen or so crates are stacked neatly against the wall. He can't imagine the effort it must have taken to rough-in the cave and turn it into a functional storeroom.

"Lucky you saw that boat, Kate. This is _amazing_."

"I don't know if I'd call it lucky yet, Castle. See if there's a hammer or something in the toolbox. Let's pry open one of these crates and see what we are dealing with."

He finds a small pry bar and a hammer and quickly starts in on a crate. The box is nailed tight though and it takes him a moment to find purchase between the slats of wood and get a good grip. The wood squeaks against the nails as he begins and the top is about to open when she grips his arm, her fingers tight against his bicep.

"Shh," she suddenly says. "I think I hear something."

They listen but there is just the steady drip of water and the slight whoosh of the wind through the tunnels. White noise he can't quite identify, almost pulsing. He continues on the box as her grip loosens, thinking she was mistaken. The lid pops and his eyes widen as he takes in the sight. Mystery solved.

"Holy shit!" he exclaims, "Kate, do you see this?"

"Fuck," she says. "Rick, we need to get out of here. We have to report this."

"Yeah," he agrees, backing away from the crate. "Nothing says we're in over our heads like a couple dozen bricks of cocaine and only one way out. Something tells me the owner of this haul wouldn't be too happy to find us here."

"No kidding," she whispers. "Come on, back the way we came. We gotta get out of here."

"We should clean up a little first," he says, motioning to the crate.

He puts the lid back on as best he can, uses his feet to mar his tracks in the dirt. He returns the pry bar and the hammer to the tool box and surveys the area. He thinks they've done a decent job of covering their tracks; the lid is still loose, but at first glance hopefully no one will be any the wiser. They need to get this reported before whoever it is returns and finishes emptying the cave of the stockpile. There has to be a million or more worth of illegal drugs left in the storeroom, he can't imagine the owners will be gone for long.

They retrace their steps, faster this time, are about halfway back to the first cave when he feels her hand at his arm again.

"Listen…" she says, "you hear _that_?"

He does this time. A whispering sound, the same white noise, steady and rhythmic, louder now… _wet. _

_Crap! _

"Kate…" He hears the trepidation in his voice and cringes.

"It's what I think it is, isn't it?"

"Come on," he says, his voice steadier, a little forced but passable. The water's coming in. The tide has turned while they were deep in the tunnels. _That_ is why the smugglers have abandoned their cache.

As they reach the cave, his worst fears are realized. Water rushes in and out of the ingress at steady intervals, foaming and bubbling its way into the entrance. The small pool is now a swirling lake that spans almost the entire cavern. There's no way they'd be able to navigate past the rocks and out onto the beach. It's likely there's no beach _to_ navigate at the moment.

It will be hours before the tide turns and they have two options. Return to the cave with the stockpile or take the other route with lanterns and hope it's safer. Water laps at his shoes and he jumps back. The tide has not finished mounting and they need to make a decision soon.

"We could go back to the stockroom and hope that they don't show before we get out..."

He's not a fan of that option; it seems like pushing their luck.

"Or we could hedge our bets and try the other tunnel."

It's unknown, but from the entrance it looks untouched. The lamps are old and covered in dirt, the floor looks unscathed. He only hopes that the primitive and ancient looking gas lamps are a sign that this tunnel too, stays dry.

She chews on her lip, her eyes flitting between the two developed tunnels. He watches as her brow furrows and then as her shoulders square when she comes to a decision.

"Look, Castle, I know that the storeroom is our safest bet. Obviously it stays dry or they wouldn't be storing cocaine in there, but I just have a feeling… I don't know… let's try the other one. I'm not armed and I don't like the idea of being caught by drug smugglers unprepared."

He breathes out a sigh of relief. He's not entirely sure of how long it will be until the tide turns and he's wary of the idea of waiting in the storeroom like lame ducks. If this is a regular hiding spot, it's certain that the smugglers will have a good grasp on the tides. At least this way, they have a fighting chance if the smugglers return before they have a chance to escape.

* * *

**Now, now, now... before you lynch me. We can't have porn _every _chapter! The poor man needs recovery time. And one of these days I'd like to actually finish this story. **

**Thanks to Avi, for providing me with eye candy in hopes of bribing me to write some Hard Candy. **


	18. Chapter 18

The tunnel to their left is narrow and musty smelling, the steady current of air that left the smuggler's tunnel crisp and clean smelling is non-existent in this lesser used path. The lamps along the walls are smeared with mildew and out of use. Despite the dank air and foreboding darkness, Kate breathes out a sigh of relief as they begin along the path. While what's ahead is unknown, she is at least fairly certain from the lack of footprints that they will be safe from the smugglers down here.

"I wonder how far it goes," she says, wondering out loud.

"I'm guessing at least as far as the other one. Why go to all the trouble of shoring these tunnels up if they don't lead anywhere, right?"

"I hope you're right," she says. The sound of the water is getting louder and Kate is beginning to second-guess herself.

"Come on," he says, taking her hand, "Let's get moving, the water is on our tail."

She picks up the pace, walking ahead of him a little as is their custom. The sound of the ocean recedes a little as they forge ahead. He huffs out a grunt of annoyance and she squeezes his hand in consolation. She might not be on duty, but the instinct to protect him never goes away, no matter how much it sometimes exasperates him.

"Can't help it," she says. "Once a cop, always a cop. Serve and protect. What kind of an officer would I be if I let you barrel into the unknown ahead of me?"

"A terrible one. But it'd make you an awesome girlfriend." She hears the smile in his voice, can almost picture the waggling eyebrows. "You know, you're killing my ego here, Kate. Couldn't you at least _pretend _that you need my manly abilities to help navigate this treacherous path?"

"Treacherous? Really?" The man couldn't leave an adjective alone if he tried. "It might be dark and smelly, but I'd hardly call it life-threatening or treach… erous…."

Shit. Is the universe out to mock her? It has to be that because there is no way this is happening right now. None.

"What?"

She hears the trepidation in his voice, feels his breath, hot on her neck as he crowds her to get a better look at what's around the corner.

"Shit."

"Yeah, my thoughts exactly."

Ahead, there has been a cave in. Rocks and piles of stone are stacked almost to the ceiling, layers of sand and silt acting as a strong mortar; it's a virtual wall and there's no way there are getting through. Kate thinks she might be able to squeeze through the gap at the top, but there's no way Castle will fit and the prospect of leaving him behind isn't one she's willing to accept.

"Well we can't go back," he says, stating the obvious. "Not yet anyway. The tide is still rising. We can either hang out here and hope for the best, or we can try and move these rocks."

"Thank you, Captain Obvious."

She cringes. It's not that she's particularly annoyed with him; her agitation is actually directed more at herself. If she hadn't been so eager to go find the boat and explore the caves, perhaps they wouldn't once again be facing life and death with little chance of a way out. They can't even go on vacation without the stench of crime following them.

"Castle, I'm.."

"You're welcome, Mistress Snark."

He grins, cuts her off mid-apology and bumps hips with her. "Come on. Let's see what we can do about this wall, huh?"

They try prying the rocks down, but the stones are set tight and are slippery with mildew; the best they manage is loosening a few smaller pebbles and covering their hand in bruises and abrasions. She's panting with exertion and she can smell his sweat in the air around them. Kate lets out an expletive and slumps down the wall, landing with a heavy thud on the dirt floor.

Castle joins her as she rests her head against the cool rock face, defeat evident in his slumping posture.

"It was worth a shot," he says heavily.

"A Castlesque plan wouldn't go astray right about now, Rick."

He has a knack for getting them out of tight spots and this one is awfully narrow.

"I got nothing."

That's disconcerting. He hadn't even tried for a wild idea. She sighs and leans into his side. "So we wait?"

"Yeah," he sighs.

Silence stretches for a few moments and she feels her muscles tensing. Then she feels as he forces his body to relax, listens as he takes measured breaths. It's soothing and her exhalations slow to match his.

"We could play Angry Birds," he says lightly, trying to ease the tension with his usual boyish charisma. Normally, she gets a secret kick out of his charming and youthful habits. That he hasn't let the outside world and all the pressures that they face together, drag him down. But today? Not so much.

"You have your phone?" she says, bolting upright and staring at him incredulously.

There's an edge of irritation in her tone and she feels him stiffen at her side. But really, the man has had his phone this entire time and he didn't think to mention it? They could call for help. Not that she knows what help could be brought in their current predicament, but it might have come in handy while they were in the smuggler's cave. She forces herself to calm down; it probably slipped his mind. Like the turning of the tides slipped hers, she admits to herself irritably. She should have known better, her family had spent their summers at the ocean and she had spent her days playing in rock pools and hunting for sea-creatures to freak her mother out with. It's where she first learned the eye-roll, she thinks with a fond smile.

"I already checked," he says quietly, "no service."

She exhales and squeezes his thigh. Of course he did. He's not an idiot. He kisses her temple and she apologizes in her own way.

"I bet I can three-star all the levels," she says coyly.

"Pfft! Like I haven't already done that," he laughs.

Of course he has, but he's smiling again. She knows this because she's not immune to the draw of flinging birds into a physics-heavy puzzle involving baby-stealing pigs. She may have pilfered his phone on occasion and wasted away a few hours with the ridiculous game. She still doesn't understand why the pigs are green though.

"Ah, right. All that time you have on your hands while you watch me do paperwork."

"If I can't set the scene, what's the point? The writing, it's so… dry. Where's the flair? There's no story."

She laughs. "It's supposed to be dry, Castle. Facts matter; not what the investigating officer was feeling at the time. It's not supposed to be a novel, you know."

"Might make for more interesting trials though. Just imagine the hearings. _"And you say your gut had a bad feeling as you entered the abode, Officer Williams? There was a sense of dread in the air?"_"

She grins at his put-on accent. It's something between Bostonian and New York. It's awful and entirely for her amusement.

"You're right, you should stick to the pulp-fiction, writer-boy."

"You know you can't insult me anymore, Beckett. I've already seen your stash of Castle novels and you've admitted to being a fan girl. Hell, you've acted out plotlines for me, in bed I might add. So sling all the affronts you like, you won't get a rise out of me."

"I won't, huh?"

He stammers and she smirks that she still has the ability to leave him stuttering after all these months. She slides a hand down his thigh, and rakes her nails back up towards his zipper. Something sounding akin to a growl is emitted from his lips. The deep tenor of his voice sends a flood of want to her core.

"Besides, who said I was insulting you? Larger-than-life leads, beautiful girls; exotic places and mysterious villains where the good guys always win. What's not to love?"

"Keep talking, cop-lady, I like where this is headed."

"Oh you do, huh?"

She pops the button and snakes her hand inside. He immediately becomes rigid under her palm, and she leers at him as she strokes him to full attention and pulls his erection free of his boxers. His hips rise to meet her touch and she groans as his hand roughly cups the back of her head and drags her in for a kiss.

"I could think of worse ways to spend our time waiting on the tide to turn," he mumbles into her mouth. A hand slides down the front of her own pants and she moans when he finds her slick folds.

"Honestly," she pants, "I'm… surprised at your… _oh!..._ ability… to recover so quickly."

"I don't hear you complaining," he leers. "And you certainly _felt_ like you wouldn't be opposed to turning this burrow of dirt into a tunnel of love."

She barks out a laugh and rolls towards him, effectively removing his hands from inside her panties, which pains her just a little she will admit, but half the fun is in the lead up and if they've got hours to kill, she may as well make this worth their while. She gains leverage by straddling him and cradles his face between her palms.

"Did you seriously just say that?"

He nods his head vigorously, eyes bright and gleeful in recognition of his god-awful pun.

She shakes her head and caresses him with her lips, lets her tongue swirl around his mouth, tasting him, teasing him by drawing back every time he leans forward to deepen the kiss.

"Ridiculous man," she chuckles.

He slides his hands under her shirt, trailing his long fingers up her ribcage, leaving her shivering not from the cold but from the goose bumps that rise along her spine in his wake. His thumbs graze below the underwire of her bra, tracing the metal curve until he sweeps them over her breasts and pushes down on her hardening nipples.

He makes her feel things she didn't know were possible with just the lightest of touches. He makes her feel special, treasured and loved; all the while stoking the flames within her and bringing out a decidedly wicked side. A facet she had often teased, but never fully fleshed out until she gave in and accepted that he was the one who would see forever with her. He had once called her extraordinary but he must have been mistaken, for it is him who is the exceptional one. With his extreme persistence and unending faith in her, with his youthful wonder and unconventional wisdom, he had managed to do what no other man had even come close to achieving. He had allowed her to thrive. He had unfurled her layers, and revealed to her the beauty of being naked before him. He'd shown her that she wasn't simply an onion to be peeled but a flower to be patient with while she bloomed.

Apparently, he'd also imparted with her a certain sense of prose because since when did she start thinking in metaphors? And flowery metaphors at that. She's going soft. He's turning her into a puddle of goo and she couldn't care less. She's lost in his touch, in his soft grunts and low moans, in the sensation of his hands and lips and the hard muscles of his thighs. It takes her a second to realize that he's stilled his movements.

"Rick…" she questions.

"Shit. Kate, get up!"

She's confused, but it's his panicked voice and she's only heard it on a few occasions, so she complies; albeit with stiff legs and a grudging protest from her quivering core.

When she stands and steps forward, she immediately snaps out of her Castle-induced haze. Her feet land with a splash in a pool of chilly water. With his legs stretched out in front of him, the water had encroached on him first.

The water is rising quickly, already to their knees, another inch with every undulation of the tides. Kate senses a disturbing feeling of déjà vu. Is it not enough that they've escaped drowning once? With a wry grunt of acceptance, she acknowledges that at least this time it won't be the murky waters of the Hudson. At least this time, the water will be somewhat fresh.

"Castle, I'm so sorry, this is my fault. If I hadn't been so gung-go about finding the boat…"

She needs to say her goodbyes this time; she needs to make sure he knows exactly how she feels. If she's going to die, this time she's going to do it without any regrets. _This time_, she thinks. How is it that her life has been defined by a series of near-death experiences? Who did she piss off in a former life? That they were so offended by her that they are now exacting revenge by fucking with her every time she reaches a new level of happiness.

"No, Kate," he says sharply, grabbing her by the wrists and staring her down. "I did _not_ just get you to agree to marry me only to die as shark-bait."

His eyes flash with resolve, a deep and steely blue. She feels it as it seeps into her, as she draws strength from him and regains some of her determination not to die.

"So what do we do?" she asks as the water rises to waist level.

"Dig!" he cries, clawing with renewed strength at the now soaked wall of stone.

* * *

**It's late and I went and added bits and pieces after my betas went to bed. So any and all typos can be blamed on me. But to Deb and Avi, thank you muchly for looking this over. You both rock my socks.**

**To my dear readers. Thank you for bearing with me during my Murder He Wrote induced crisis. I know this update took a while. Turns out I needed to rewrite my ending so as not to look like I was taking the easy way out and simply ripping off the show. Turns out I'm still not entirely in love with what I've come up with, but it _will_ get there. At any rate, I didn't want to make you wait any longer for the parts that weren't**** going to change. Enjoy!**


	19. Chapter 19

The water is at chest level by the time he finally sees them making some headway. Small handfuls of dirt become larger clumps of rock as the water swirls and loosens the mud. They are making progress but it's going to be a close call. The tide is still rising fast and strong, its natural path is blocked by the wall of debris, speeding up the surge. Kate could go on ahead; she would easily fit through the opening up top. He doubts she will agree to it, but it's worth a shot.

"Kate," he puffs, his breath coming out in short gasps from the exertion, "let me give you a leg up."

"Rick, no."

"Kate, we're gonna..."

"Whatever happens, I'm not leaving you, Castle. Just... just keep digging, okay?"

Her face is certain; her are eyes fierce, her lips pressed into a thin and determined line. One brow rises in challenge. She won't be swayed and they are wasting precious time.

He grunts, nods his acquiescence and continues clawing at the wall. The process is painstakingly slow and his knuckles are bleeding; the salt water stings and burns as it sloshes higher with each wave. He glances over toward Kate and realizes that while the water is at chest level for him, it has risen to a precarious height for her. He has five inches on Kate; the water is lapping at her chin with every swell. She chokes and splutters out a curse as an especially large surge rides in and engulfs her before she has a chance to react.

"God. Kate, dig!" he cries, beginning to panic at the sheer lack of progress they are making on the wall. He earns himself a look that in other circumstances might make him cower, her face clearly projecting, 'what in the hell do you think I'm doing?' After that last wave though, he's just happy to see her scowling face staring back at him. Briefly he grins, a small, forced-out grimace of reassurance, and then he proceeds to claw at the rock face.

Small clods of dirt fall, the occasional pebble and stone. The process is painfully slow. They have boulders to be moving and judging by the rate at which the water is entering the tunnel, merely minutes left to move them and save themselves.

"Castle!" she screams, as she loses her footing and is dragged under by the incoming surge.

The shock and horror he sees in her eyes is enough to send an additional adrenaline rush through his system. Fluttering, deep in the middle of his torso grows and escalates until he feels his muscles tense; his head swims with a sudden onslaught of chemicals and he feels powerful, like he could conquer the world. Or at least, he hopes, this wall.

With one last surge of strength, he attacks. His fingers find purchase on a jagged piece of rock that juts from the wall. He _has _to move this thing; Kate's life is just moments away from being swept away with the tide.

A sick feeling rolls in his stomach, as the skin sloughs away and his fingers stumble over the jagged rock, a panic-induced tightness in his chest as the water rushes over his own head and he struggles to resurface.

When he does finally find his footing to stand, he is greeted by an eerie calm. No spluttering, no splashes, just the steady swoosh of the water against the wall and his own heaving breaths.

_Kate! _He realizes she must still be under. His arms circle around, searching about his body but to no avail. She is nowhere to be seen. He gulps down the bile that is surging up his throat and threatening to spill into his mouth.

_No. Not today. _

He will get them out of this or die trying. "Hang on, Kate" he begs into the abyss. "I'm coming."

He heaves once more, desperate, uses his feet as leverage and pulls with everything he has. He's about to give up, let go and surrender to the black. The burning in his lungs, the sting of salt in his eyes and the fiery pain of over-taxed muscles is almost too much to bear.

And then he feels it. The slightest of shift under his palms, a rocking motion, grit against grit.

He forces his fingers into the crack that has formed, grimaces as rock bites into the skin on top of his hands. He puts his entire weight into it and then leans away.

In one heroic tug, the wall that spells their doom collapses underneath his palms and disappears with the tide. The water rushes on ahead; unheeded now by the barrier, the level drops to a manageable two feet of softly undulating ocean.

"Kate!" he yells. But there's no response. "Kate," he calls again.

His eyes are burning and he's semi-blinded by saltwater, perhaps tears too. His ears ring from a pounding in his head. He's not sure if he has hurt himself or if it's just the beating of his wildly erratic heart, the panic that he can't find her.

He stills, straining to hear anything, a sign that she's alive. He viciously swipes at his ears, pounds on the side of his head, trying to clear the haze and struggling to see anything in the almost pitch black of the cave.

He's breathing heavily, scanning the dark for her form and fearing the worst, when he hears it. A small sputter from up ahead, a cough and a wet sounding choke of air echoing along the walls of the tunnel. His stomach rolls… Kate.

He turns towards the sound and stumbles over the rubble, skips over what's left of the wall; he lets out a long whoosh of air as his chest finally relaxes and allows for more normal respiration. She's alive.

"Thank god," he whispers as he reaches her side. He pulls her up from all fours and into his chest. "Thank god, thank god, thank god," he repeats into her hair.

"Castle..." she sighs, slumping into his embrace.

"I thought you'd..." he chokes, pulling her tight and cocooning her within his arms. "I thought..."

"I know," she says, "I know. Me too."

"I love you," they both say as their mouths find each other's and clash in a stormy meeting of lips and teeth.

It's rough and it's desperate, despairing and at once an exalting celebration of beating the odds and again finding their way back to each other. It's exactly what they need, confirmation of life, to bring their pulses back down to a more normal rate.

They stand there, swaying to the rhythm of the ocean for what seems to Rick like hours but is possibly only minutes, seconds even, before she pulls away and searches his gaze.

He stares back, not willing to look away, not sure if he believes that they could be so lucky as to cheat death once more.

She traces his face with her palms, the pads of her fingers stroking softly along his jawline and a thumbnail scraping over his brow, circling under his eyes, smoothing away what might be sea-water but most likely are tears. He offers her a wry grin and simply rests his hands on her hips, willing her not to pull away, lest it all be a dream and he wakes up to a world without her.

Castle had been so certain she was lost and for a minute the pain had been unbearable. He had almost given up, for a split-second; he had closed his eyes and willed the ocean to swallow him. He understands now, a little of what she went through while strapped into a car under the murky waters of the Hudson. He regrets the thoughts he had had when he'd found her limp in the front seat and giving up on life. He'd been angry with her, surprised by her willingness to concede, although he'd never mentioned it. He now knows all too well the feeling of hopelessness and finally he gets it.

She smiles back reassuringly and he breaks into a radiant smile as he wonders at her constant reserves of strength, how when she had felt his touch in that car, she had fought to overcome the black. He marvels that in this moment, after their latest brush with death, she seems to be the one doing the best.

She nods then, slightly, as though content that he is well and she pulls out of his grasp.

"We're okay," she says.

He nods, not quite certain but willing to believe anyway. "We're okay," she repeats and he nods again as he begins to accept it, relying on her faith in him, in_ them_.

"We should get moving," he says, clutching for her hand and pulling her close.

They are okay for now, but he's not content to just hang around and wait for the grim reaper to take another swing. The water doesn't seem to be rising any higher, it seems to have peaked, but he doesn't want to stick around and find out that he's wrong.

"Come on," he says, taking the lead this time, forcing a hint of good humor into his voice that he doesn't quite feel, "onwards and upwards, right?"

"Right," she confirms as her fingers twist and lock into his own.

It doesn't take them long to come to another dead end but this time he smiles, because like a beacon shinning in the night, ahead is a ladder and it leads up. Into the unknown, but up nevertheless and what lies ahead can't possibly be any worse than what lays behind them.

"Upwards!" she cries with almost childlike glee, splashing ahead and running to the ladder.

It hits him suddenly and he wonders if she too has figured out where the ladder leads. There's really only one place it could lead and Castle couldn't be happier. If his calculations are correct, he and Kate are about fifteen minutes and a short car ride away from a long, hot shower and a warm, dry bed.

"How fast do you think that car of yours can get me to a bathtub?" she asks as she steps up the ladder and pushes onto the trapdoor. Yep, she knows.

Thankfully, the door opens. For a moment, Castle had the sick feeling that it would be locked from above, that the universe was truly out to get them. He worried that they'd be left with a long wait and even longer trudge through the caves and back up the beach to the lighthouse.

"She's pretty fast," he replies.

"I'm willing to let a few traffic violations go if you can get me home within ten minutes."

"Miss Beckett, I'll get you home in five if you promise to let me accompany you for that soak."

"You have yourself a deal, Mr..." She steps up ahead of him and disappears into what Castle assumes is the basement of the main house. "Whoa!"

"Kate, what is it?"

A small hand appears and he lets her pull him up and through the opening.

"Oh...William." he says sadly, as he takes in his surroundings and at least one of the mysteries is becoming clear.

He lets his hands trail over hundreds of long-forgotten bottles, his fingers leaving a trail in the accumulated dust. He finally comes to rest upon a hand-written and yellowed with age note.

_Dear Charlotte... _it reads.

* * *

**Much love to Avi because this chapter would still be sitting non-posted on my hard drive without her yelling at me to post it and move on with it.**


	20. Chapter 20

"What is it, Castle?" she asks, watching as his fingers curl around the edges of an old sheet of paper. His face is pale, the color drained away before her eyes.

"A note, suicide note, I think… from William."

The note flutters from his grasp and lands at his feet, his face showing a range of emotion; from sadness at the finality of it all, to dejection at having his long-held belief in the romantic mystery turn out to be a flight of fancy.

Kate picks up the note and settles against the table beside Castle. Pressing up against his solid form, she catches his eye. He nods and she begins reading.

_Dear Charlotte, _

_You will never read this letter but I hope that by writing it down that somehow, some way, the words might find you. Or perhaps… it's just way past time that I unburdened my soul. Everyone is dead Char. Everyone but me. But not for long. _

Kate takes a long breath as the reality of what she's about to read sets in; William's last words. Castle lays a soft kiss against her temple and she continues reading.

_When we met I was haunted by the fact that I might be wasting my life away, my uncle's death was a wake-up call that I should have heeded. I did not choose this life but I also did not shun it when it came calling; the easy money was just too hard to resist. I fell into the business by matter of genealogy and what some would say good luck. Prohibition, even at the time, was a widely scoffed at law. And so, I was entrenched up to my neck before I knew what had happened. _

_But then you appeared, like light on the horizon, or a siren calling from a dark and stormy ocean. You called for me to save you, and in turn, save myself. _

_And I tried. I tried so hard, Char. But by then I was in too deep. _

_My Uncle's inheritance brought me to the Island and the unexpected gift that was the caves below his estate kept me here; the warren of tunnels was a veritable goldmine. Little did I realize at the time, but they would prove to be my greatest curse; a den of iniquity that drew me in and spat out the twisted and warped remains of my soul. _

_I never told you what it was that I did for a living, and you never asked. I thought that perhaps it was because you didn't care or that you simply assumed I came from money and didn't need to work; it wasn't uncommon for women to be ignorant or even indifferent to their husband's finances. _

_Now, I wonder if you knew all along. _

Kate's hands tremble and she has to stop.

Everything they had learned about William from the old newspapers seemed to tell of a promising career in architecture. He'd been a young man struggling to make it but about to hit it big when his uncle's death had gotten in the way. Her and Castle had simply assumed that his inheritance had been enough to make him want to quit his career path and instead lead a life of luxury. After all, who wouldn't?

The knowledge that a life of crime had all but been thrust into his young hands, gives her pause. Could anyone really say they would have done different had they been in his position? It seems the more they learn about William and Charlotte, the more tragic the story becomes.

"Here, let me," Castle says, his voice soft and comforting as he takes the paper from her shaky hands.

She's grateful; she had scanned ahead while reading and knows what is coming. Somehow, she seems to have gotten just as invested in the tragic story of William and Charlotte as Castle has. Kate fists a hand and bites on her thumb nail to distract herself from the tears that threaten to spill.

His voice is low, an almost reverent whisper, as he continues where she left off.

_Was that the reason you never quite let me in? Were your wistful trips to the lighthouse not in remembrance for your family but for the future I never quite managed to provide? A way to hide from the fact that your husband wasn't quite all that he appeared to be; that he had a secret life disguised by a ruse of imbibing with the lads in the basement?_

_I found a letter today, addressed to the police. And this is the reason for my newfound sorrow._

_Written in your hand, I sit here trembling, daring not open it. What lies within? The reason for your death? Confirmation that you took your own life? Or worse… confirmation of what I have suspected all along; that I was the ultimate cause of your demise._

_You once told me that Arthur Hamilton scared you, that you had a bad feeling about him. I brushed you off with platitudes and soothing words of comfort. Now, finding this letter in the caves, I think that maybe I should have listened. Because no matter how it got there, whether by your own hand or by Arthur's, if you found out about the booze…_

_I dare not wait any longer, lest my courage fails me. It's my fault that you are no longer with me Charlotte, either way._

_I want you to know that I loved you completely; whole-heartedly and without restraint. Until you, I had been content to amble from party to party, never making a connection that lasted longer than a day. But you made me want to be a better man, Char. Your indifference is what made the difference. _

_And for a time I tried; I was. _

_I thank you for that._

_I will never forgive myself for what my actions brought upon you, and I wouldn't ask you to either. I just pray that wherever it is that I am going, I might have one last chance to look upon your face, one last moment to memorize your features and remember your embrace. _

_I'm going to open the letter now, Char. _

_Whatever it entails, know that I love you._

_Forever yours, _

_William._

When he comes to the end of the note, she raises her eyes to Castle's; in them she sees the emotions that threaten to spill over in her own.

"God, they were so stupid!" she cries, the outburst surprising even herself.

"Yeah..." he agrees.

Sadness swims in his eyes, a deep blue and stormy ocean; and she feels it too. Because this once hopeful love story had ended so tragically; a series of miscommunications apparently leading them both to disaster. What if Charlotte had pleaded with him to stop, rather than quietly ignoring this darker side to her husband? Would his obvious love for her have been enough?

Awareness shines through as well, that the bottles surrounding them were to blame. His eyes flit around the room and hers follow his course. Crates and boxes, hundreds of them, adorn the shelves and corners of the room; a dozen or so empty bottles lie discarded and broken by the writing desk. What if William had quit the bootlegging business? It seems unlikely if the stockpile surrounding them is anything to go by. The man was obviously invested deep if almost a century later such a large stash remains. If this was what was stored in the house, Kate can only imagine what had been buried in the caves below.

Castle roams the room as if looking for something and as the sadness lifts, another emotion sparks to life; she can read on his face that he feels it too. Curiosity, because where is this letter from Charlotte and why had it never been mentioned? Who else was behind the apparent cover-up of both Charlotte's murder and the reason for William's suicide? Her eyes widen as they meet his from across the room.

Finally, trepidation lurks in her psyche, because something rings a bell and she can see by the crease in his brow and the tight pull of his jaw that he feels it too. It's written all over his face.

"Castle, you don't think…" she trails off, not wanting to voice what she suspects.

But it's beginning to make sense.

Both of the mysteries, surrounding the lighthouse and the caves below, have one thing in common.

* * *

**I found this chapter incredibly difficult to write. How does one set the tone for an almost hundred year old suicide note and manage to weave in some C&B at the same time? It must have gone through about twenty incarnations. I'm gonna settle with this one before I write twenty more. **

**My never-ending gratitude to Avi for kicking me in the ass and for baking delicious pies. Come live with me forever and bake All. The. Things? **

**So... Who's been paying attention? Do ya think you know who the current day cocaine dealer is?**


	21. Chapter 21

**Well, it must be the apocalypse... I'm updating. **

* * *

_Previously:_

_Castle roams the room as if looking for something and as the sadness lifts, another emotion sparks to life; she can read on his face that he feels it too. Curiosity, because where is this letter from Charlotte and why had it never been mentioned? Who else was behind the apparent cover-up of both Charlotte's murder and the reason for William's suicide? Her eyes widen as they meet his from across the room._

_Finally, trepidation lurks in her psyche, because something rings a bell and she can see by the crease in his brow and the tight pull of his jaw that he feels it too. It's written all over his face._

_"Castle, you don't think…" she trails off, not wanting to voice what she suspects._

_But it's beginning to make sense._

_Both of the mysteries, surrounding the lighthouse and the caves below, have one thing in common._

* * *

"No," he cuts her off, the answer coming swift and not ringing true even to his own ears.

Because he does, God, he _does. _

As he had finished reading the letter, one word kept repeating in his mind. Hamilton, Hamilton, _Hamilton._

Fuck. Melissa Hamilton. Is it possible that she could be behind the current smuggling operation?

Her family has been a fixture in Sagaponack since its settlement in the 17th century, a name to be reckoned with; their tendrils reaching far and wide around the Hamptons. He's never concerned himself with how her family came about their money, it had always just been a given that they had it.

He doesn't remember her father working when they were children but then again he and his mother only came to the Hamptons upon invitation; money was tight back then and it was only his mother's influence on the stage that allowed them to bask in the glory that was the Hamptons in the summertime.

But is it possible that the family business is illicit drugs? It's not exactly something you would broadcast and it would explain Melissa's father always being home, the lavish parties that were thrown and the somewhat ominous presence within the Hamilton house. He had never felt comfortable while staying there; often he had seen dark figures in the night and heard hushed conversations coming from the kitchen. His overactive imagination often had him awake before dawn and roaming the estate while everyone else slept.

Shit. It kind of makes sense. "Maybe?" he hedges on a sigh.

Kate squeezes his arm in comfort and a sympathetic smile lifts on her face.

"Come on, Castle," she says. "Plenty of time for mystery solving later. Why don't you take me home to a nice warm bath?"

"Shouldn't we tell the police about the caves and what we found?" he says.

Kate lifts both eyebrows in disdain, and for a moment he's just a little bit afraid for his life.

"Or not…?" he questions. Since when was _he _the one following protocol?

"The caves will be flooded for at least another few hours," she says, glancing at her watch. "And it's late." She sighs, heavily, and he feels the weight of the day descending down onto him as well. "Besides, do you really think Sheriff 'Podunk' is gonna get out of his bed and come traipsing down to the caves in the middle of the night?"

"Yeah, probably not," he agrees, shuffling his feet, still not entirely convinced.

"Look, I'm tired and I'm cold, but more importantly…"

She uses her thumb to lift his chin so that he can look into her eyes. A sheen of tears glistens but beyond that is the soft and warm reassurance of her love; her understanding that this case, that the day's events, have gotten to him as much as they have her. She's not dismissing the case, or his feelings. In her own way, she is trying to lighten the mood.

"This isn't my jurisdiction and we're on vacation. All I want right now is a glass of wine and a steaming hot bath."

She has a valid point, he thinks, his mind already picturing her naked and sinking into a tub filled with bubbles. A bath sounds divine right now. She closes her thoughts with a soft kiss on the corner of his mouth. The coiled knot in his stomach relaxes and he lets out a shaky breath; they really _are_ okay and they really _have_ escaped death once again.

He lets himself get lost in the imagery as it soothes away the residual distress. His eyes wander her body as he envisions himself sliding in behind her and wrapping his arms around her warm, slippery waist, nestling her between the V of his legs and nuzzling into her neck while they both decompress.

"Tell me..." she says, dragging her nails softly through the soft hairs on his forearm, a hint of playfulness returning to her voice and regaining his attention. "Don't you want to see me naked?"

Castle gulps, because even soaked to the bone, shivering and with a slightly blue tinge to her lips, Kate Beckett is still as alluring as hell. Of _course_ he wants to see her naked. He doesn't need to be asked twice, and if this is how she wants to forget, he will definitely play along.

"Why, Detective Beckett," he purrs, shrugging off the melancholy in favor of his tried and true method of lightening the mood. "I've never seen such flagrant disregard for the law."

She grins, obviously pleased with herself. She raises a brow and cocks her head in his direction, playing along. "Are you complaining?"

"No, no, Miss Beckett, not at all." He leans in to whisper in her ear. "Although… I think perhaps you should be punished."

He hears her sharp inhale as his palm meets her rear-end; he smirks and hops out of her reach before she can retaliate. She laughs, at him and his display of cowardice, he suspects, and rolls her eyes before turning away and climbing the flight of stairs leading to the main level of the old house.

"Let's just focus on getting out of here first, huh?" she says on sigh, but the light has returned to her eyes and he silently congratulates himself on playing a part in getting her there.

A moment of panic rushes through him as Kate struggles with the ancient and heavily bolted door because no… just… _no!_ There is no way their luck is that bad.

But the moment is short-lived and he lets out the breath he'd been holding when he realizes that at least the doors are bolted from the inside. Stuck though the locks might be, at least they are accessible.

Kate perseveres, and after a minute or two of grunting and swearing, that reminds him of other less aggravating activities, the last thing on his mind is broken locks or ill-fated relationships. She flicks her hair back and he hears an irritated huff as she blows it out of her face; his groin tightens as images of her naked body, writhing over his and glistening with sweat, dance about his head.

"Need some help?" he whispers, crowding in behind her, pressing himself against her backside.

"Castle…" she warns, no real malice in her voice, the slight husk betraying the stern tone she's trying for.

He backs off anyway though, content to breathe in her scent and watch the play of her delicate fingers as she jiggles the stubborn locks. He might have eased her mind with his banter, but he can sense the nervous energy still rolling off of her in waves. He knows the feeling. Despite their efforts his mind is still roiling. He doesn't know what he would have done if she hadn't survived.

Finally, with a triumphant cry of success, the rusted bolt wiggles free and freedom is at hand. A fresh surge of adrenaline courses through his veins; he doesn't trust fate to leave them be, not after their quick trip to the scenic lighthouse had turned into an all-day brush with death, and so he quickly grasps her hand and rushes them out of the house.

Kate giggles all the way to the car, slightly maniacal, apparently under the influence of some adrenaline of her own, as he steps on the gas and hightails it for the house; her laughter is infectious and by the time they make their way home, his ribs ache from it.

She wasn't lying when she'd said that all she wanted was a warm bath. As soon as he pulls up to the driveway, she's unbuckling her seat belt and hurtling herself out of the car and up the front steps of the house. He chuckles at her eagerness, slowly following behind her, appreciating the view of her rear end as she bounds into the house.

Now that the rush has worn off though, he feels deep in his muscles a bone-weary ache; he's getting old and the frantic clawing at the cave wall has left his shoulders throbbing with overuse. As delightful as sharing a tub with Kate sounds, he's not sure he could manage to heave himself back out of it. With a groan as his knees crack on the way up the steps, he trails slowly behind her.

As he wanders through the house, he finds more evidence of Kate's eagerness to warm up and shed herself of the day. Shoes and shucked clothing litter the floor, like a trail of breadcrumbs that lead his imagination to conjure up images of Kate as she soaks in his tub. He imagines her long, lean body, stark naked and surrounded by a halo of steam and bubbles. He picks up the pace a little and attempts to shrug off the weariness as the images in his mind leave him tantalized and aroused.

What he is treated to, as he hears the water shut off and a long, happy sigh from Kate, is even better than he could have conjured. While the bubbles are missing, she has indulged in the bath oils that he keeps beside the tub. The air is thick with steam and the scent of vanilla and sandalwood; her skin glistens, water beading upon her pert nipples as they peek out from above the waterline.

Her eyes are closed, her chest rising and falling with each soft puff of air from her barely parted lips; she is the picture of serenity as her arms float and her fingers trail meandering circles around her sides. She looks so content, so utterly relaxed, that he dares not attempt wooing her, no matter the bulge that is rapidly forming in his shorts. It's so rare that she ever truly lets herself unwind.

Instead, with one last lingering glace, he backs out of the bathroom and sheds his wet clothes, tossing them somewhere in the vicinity of the hamper. Castle grabs a fresh towel from the linen closet and quickly dries his soaked hair and damp body. Satisfied that while the ocean left him wet and shivery, it did at least leave him relatively clean, he grabs a fresh pair of flannel pajama pants and quickly runs upstairs to grab a few supplies.

* * *

Kate feels his presence at the door; hears his sharp intake of breath and smells the faint hint of his familiar cologne. She waits with her eyes closed, expecting him to be at her side within seconds, nudging her up and out of the way so that he can slide in behind her. She keeps her breathing steady, repressing the urge to say something, enjoying the moment of peace and tranquility. Even six months ago, it would have been an effort for him to not immediately make his presence known with a brush of his hands or a comment loaded with sexual innuendo. They are good for each other, she thinks, a healthy compliment to the other; she calms him, and he brings out her playful side. Yin meets yang, she thinks, remembering his words as she lazily outlines the symbol in the water.

She lets out a sigh of contentment as he leaves the room. Briefly, she wonders what made him decide not to join her in the tub; but as the hot water soothes her aching muscles and chases away the lingering chill from the caves, she finds that she doesn't really care. She needs this moment to decompress, to file away the near-miss in the back of her mind. Twice, she has almost drowned to death. While today's brush with death wasn't as terrifying as the last, she still needs this time to reconcile herself, to let the safety of Castle's tub and the warm, scented water override the salty tang of ocean and chase away the last remnants of fear.

She takes deep, slow breaths, counts to ten, and then to one-hundred; she focuses on her breathing and the gentle slosh of water against the tub, lets her mind wander. It's a technique she learned in therapy, meditation really, and as the anxiety fades away, visions more gentle swim into her mind's eye.

The beach at sunset, and later as the lighthouse sweeps its beam of light over the ocean; Castle's arms around her waist and his warm breath against her neck.

Travelling backwards in time, she feels her lips tug upwards as another sunset materializes in her mind; a field of apple trees and the crunch of golden leaves under her bare back, Castle's arm around her waist, another tangled in her hair.

Forward then, to some point in the future; this time it's sunrise and they are in their bed at the loft.

Castle's arms are loosely slung around her waist and he snores softly in her ear. Shafts of brilliant sunlight obscure her vision but the soft thud of small feet alerts her to the presence of somebody new. A shadow forms and blocks out the glare, but the brilliant blue of mischievous eyes twinkle brighter than any ray of sunshine. 'Mommy?' she hears and she reaches out to grasp the tiny hand and tug the little boy into bed. 'Mm, Sebastian,' she says, wrapping an arm around his waist and snuggling him into her side.

"Who's Sebastian?" Castle asks, startling her from her reverie, his face twisted into a smug grin as he sets a glass of white wine down onto the ledge of the tub. "And should I be worried?"

* * *

**My lifelong love and affection to Nic and Avi. **

**To Nic, for boosting my ego and sending me hippy, crotch-shots under the guise of baby-bump pictures... **

**And to Avi, for telling me it was all wrong, until I got it right.**

**Love you both!**

**Finally, to everyone else, for hanging in there and believing in me and this story. Do me a solid and leave a review? Thank you!**


	22. Chapter 22

**Look at me! Back and posting within a week. Moving on...**

* * *

Castle roots around in the kitchen while Kate takes her bath, rustles up a quick dinner comprising of cheese and crackers, some fruit and nuts, salami and a handful of foil-wrapped, Belgium chocolates. He can never go wrong with chocolate where Kate is concerned, he thinks, grinning as he grabs another handful and dumps them unceremoniously onto the slapdash platter he's created.

He gathers two glasses and a bottle of chilled white wine from the fridge, balances the bottle in the crook of his arm and dangles the glasses between his fingers. Grasping the platter in his other hand he carefully makes his way over to the coffee table and sets it down. He places their impromptu dinner on the coffee table and surveys the scene. Something's missing.

The room is decorated in soft pastels, breezy and summery in the light of day, but now... it seems cold. The living room is dim with just the fluorescent light from the kitchen to illuminate the area, dusky shades of blue and grey; it feels taciturn and unwelcoming.

The sun had set as they had driven back to the house; it had been earlier than they suspected though, the day seeming endlessly long when their lives had hung in the balance. They probably could have called the sheriff, probably should have, but as the last vestiges of twilight sink below the horizon and the inky black of night settles over the rippling ocean, Castle is glad that they didn't.

Maybe it's the knowledge that what they know will forever taint the memory of William and Charlotte or perhaps it's the gut feeling that the sheriff won't give a damn. More likely, it's the sinking feeling in his stomach that his good friend is involved in the current-day smuggling operation. He just wants this night of peace and gratitude that they are alive to last; at least until morning.

He picks up the larger throw pillows from the couch and scatters them about the floor, plumping and fluffing them up before dropping them to the plush, shag rug; a heavy cashmere blanket is draped over one of the sofas and he adds that to the pile in front of the hearth. Better, he thinks.

He eyes the fireplace, it's not exactly cold and the weather has been unseasonably warm, but a crackling fire is just what the living room needs to cozy up the place and add a romantic touch. He quickly starts on his task, stacks up the kindling and loads up a heavy log. He watches, crouched on his knees and pleased with his work as the flames dance, and takes a moment to reminisce.

This time last year he had no clue where he stood, was grateful that she had let him back into her life, and yet still so very angry that he'd been shut out of her recovery. He'd been caught between amazement that she'd survived and seemed to be opening up to him, and guilt that he was secretly working her case. He'd come up here then, and spent a couple of weeks wallowing in his grief after Captain Gates had kicked him out of the precinct. He wonders if Gina hadn't been so insistent about promoting Heat Wave whether he ever would have left. What a difference a year makes, he thinks.

There are so many paths that they could have taken, so many wrong turns they could have made. And yet, perhaps it was meant to be. It had been a painful year more often than not; he'd caught himself wondering on more than one occasion if they would ever make it, if it was worth it, he's ashamed to admit. He knows better now. Everything was worth it, all of it, because it led to here and now.

And now… now Kate is talking marriage; _his Kate_, talking marriage after only five months of officially being together. She had actually said yes. Sure, she'd said _no _first… but she'd eventually said yes, and she'd meant it… He hadn't even needed to cajole her or persuade her with his pretty words. Wow.

He falls backwards and lands against the legs of the coffee table in an ungainly flop. He smiles goofily into the fire, a slightly girlish giggle escaping his lips; he ignores the throbbing in his hip. Because Kate… said yes. And what was a little bruise when that had happened? It hadn't had much time to sink in earlier, his joy interrupted by the return of Mike, but she _had_ said yes; even asked him to ask her again so that she could get it right.

Typical, he thinks with a chuckle, a perfectionist even when it comes to _his _proposal.

He doesn't know how long he's been sitting in front of the fire; entertained by his own private, little happy dance, his thoughts are interrupted by the soft sound of water sloshing from downstairs.

_Oh_.

He wants to share this with her. Why is he sitting alone upstairs when the love of his life is merely a few, quick footsteps away, naked and submerged in his bath tub?

With that thought in mind, he grabs a couple of the chocolates and the glasses of wine - because Kate loves him, but she also loves her bath time and he's not _stupid _-and proceeds to go downstairs to entice her out of the tub and up to the love-nest that he's created.

He pads quietly into the bedroom, grinning at the sound of her contented hums and sighs, the gentle lap of the bathwater against the ceramic tub walls.

"Mm, Sebastian," Kate sighs, as he crosses the threshold into the bathroom.

Sebastian? What now? _Who_ is Sebastian and _why_ does his girlfriend have such a blissful smile upon her face. He forces himself to calm down though. Kate loves him; it's _not_ what he's thinking.

"Kate?" he questions in a quiet voice, but she doesn't rouse from whatever fantasy she's having.

"Who's Sebastian?" he tries again, smirking as she startles, sloshes water out of the tub and looks at him with sheepish eyes.

Her jaw drops open, mouth opening and closing in surprise, and he sidles up to the tub and places her glass of wine down on the ledge.

"And should I be worried?"

Kate gulps, lowers her gaze and chews on her lip. When she again raises her eyes to him, a sparkling mirth is reflected back at him. "Why, my secret boyfriend, of course," she purrs, reaching out to trail her fingers up his forearm. "You jealous, Castle?"

He is, a little, he can't help it. But she's covering for something deeper, something she's not ready to discuss yet and so he lets it drop in favor of nibbling on that luscious lower lip, all pink and swollen from the previous abuse of her teeth. She lets out a little moan as his tongue slips inside her mouth and he pulls away with no small amount of regret.

"See? I've got nothing to be jealous of," he murmurs, grabbing a towel from the rack and holding it out for her. "Come on, get out, you're turning into a prune."

She raises a brow but slowly stands, her body glistening as the water runs in meandering rivulets down her body. She bends over to pull the plug, offering him an unadulterated view of her backside and beyond.

"An incredibly sexy prune," he corrects, gulping at the sight.

"That's better," she says smiling, standing and turning around, taking the towel from his grasp. "So what's for dinner? I'm starved."

God, she shouldn't be allowed to be this attractive. She shouldn't be allowed to be this unaffected. "You?" he asks hopefully.

"Ha!" she snorts and wraps the towel around her body, making his shoulders slump in defeat. "That's the best you've got, Ricky?"

"Just give me a minute to get the image of your nakedness out of my head and I'll be sure to come up with something better," he says, walking behind her and wrapping his arms around her waist.

"Just a minute? I'm losing my touch."

"Or, you know," he says, fiddling with the edge of the towel, letting his hands drop and his fingers trail along her thigh, "you could just accept that your womanly powers override my writerly functions and give me this one."

"Now where would be the fun in that?" she replies, batting his hands away and pulling a brush through her damp hair.

She has a point but he thinks perhaps banter isn't what they need right now, as much as they like to fall back onto it whenever times get stressful. He'll try a different tactic; he didn't go to all of that effort upstairs for nothing. Tonight is about romance and reconnecting. He cups her jaw in his hand and brushes a few strands of stray hair behind her ear.

She watches him for a moment, eyes soft, and a small smile playing about her lips. He drops his voice, ditches the sexy and goes for sincere.

"Since I've been rendered incapable of telling you how much I love you, naked and otherwise, perhaps I could show you?"

"Perhaps…"

He unwraps one of the chocolates that has been rapidly melting in his hand, raises it to her lips and grins as she closes her eyes and a look of ecstasy overtakes her features. He sucks the melted chocolate from his fingers, savoring the rich sweetness, wishing it was from her delectable mouth that he was feasting. He licks his lips, waiting on her to finish, fairly sure she's playing up her chocolate-high for his benefit. It's working, he thinks as he adjusts his pants. It takes a few moments but when she reopens her eyes she is smiling like the Cheshire cat. He ignores his excitement and offers her a hand; she drops the brush and lets him pull her along.

Kate lets out a small gasp as she climbs the last step and follows him into the living room. "Wow, Castle, it's gorgeous."

It is, he thinks, surveying the area. The fire is letting off an orange glow, softening the straight lines and neutral tones of the beach themed décor, making shadows dance along the white walls. He's glad that he let his decorator talk him into restoring the fireplace; not only is the soft light soothing, but the smell of wood burning brings back memories of summer campfires and all-night beach barbecues. Environmentally, it wasn't the wisest choice, but for comforts sake, it's exactly what the house had needed to keep it from becoming sterile and cold once the hot, summer months had departed.

"You're gorgeous," he says, pulling her into the living room and pushing gently down on her shoulders until she relaxes into the nest of pillows he has created. The towel creeps up her thighs as she sits, leaving his mouth dry as he eyes the temptation that's just out of his reach. He joins her, wiggling his hips and nudging into her side as he makes himself comfortable and wraps an arm around her waist.

"Still pretty cheesy, Castle," she says, reaching behind them for a strawberry from the platter.

"Oh, you love it."

"Just you," she sighs, leaning in to kiss him gently on the lips.

She tastes like strawberries. "Now who's being cheesy?"

"Touché"

They continue like this, trading quips and bites of food, until eventually the platter is empty and they are lying side by side in front of the fire. Her hair is a jumbled array of curls and tiny braids; she'll kill him in the morning when her hair is a mess but he knows that the repetitive action and gentle tugging soothes her. Her small contented moans as he pulls on the strands are a clear indication, and something of a turn on.

"Thank you for this, Rick."

"For what?" he asks as he trails his hands up and down her side, nudging the towel a little further out of the way so he can connect the pad of his fingers with the smooth skin along her torso.

"This… us… a night to ourselves," she sighs. "It's been a while."

It has. He loves his friends and family but _this_ was the point of the whole trip. The last few months have been a whirlwind of one case after another, a constant skirmish to juggle their newfound relationship and manage prior commitments. They've been doing okay, wonderful really, but the last few days have proven to him that it still takes work. Even though she's forgiven him, he's still wracked with guilt over his little tantrum the other day regarding Alexis.

"I'm sorry."

"Not your fault," she says. "We've been slammed."

"Not for that, although yeah, we definitely should have done this sooner." Her face morphs into one of confusion. "No… Kate, I'm sorry about the other day… with Alexis. You never let me properly apologize and I just… I wanted you to know… really, I'm sorry."

She sighs and shakes her head, absolving him of his sins, but he continues anyway.

"I never should have said those things. You're the _only _one I'd trust with her. I know I can't give her all that she needs anymore and well… it stings, that part of my life being over… but I want you to know that I'm glad that it's you she turns to."

She relaxes, sighing into his embrace and he wraps his arm tightly around her until she is pressed along his body, legs tangled, hip to hip.

"I'm glad it's me too Castle, you've raised an awesome kid."

She sounds a little… off. Dejected maybe? He wonders what that is about.

"Kate?" he whispers.

"It's nothing, Castle."

Oh, but it _is_ something.

"What's the matter?"

"It's just…" He barely hears her above the crackling from the fire. "Sebastian…" she eventually breathes.

He's clueless. _Who_ is Sebastian? Why did he bring such a joyful expression to her face earlier? Why is he causing her such angst now? And what on earth does that have to do with his apology regarding his daughter? He wracks his brain trying to figure out where he went wrong and comes up empty. This is woman logic, he's sure of it. Some crazy assumption that will make perfect sense if he just keeps asking the right questions, if she doesn't shut down. He hopes so at least.

"Your mystery man?" he asks, keeping his voice light.

She twines her fingers through his, runs her thumb over their linked digits. He keeps quiet, sensing that she's contemplating what to say to him in her mind.

"Our…"

Their what? She rests her head in her palm, facing away from him and gazing into the fire. Seconds tick by with just the crackle from the hearth and his heart constricts as every moment of silence from her continues. Finally, with a small shake of her head, as if clearing her thoughts, she continues.

"Our son," she finally whispers, her body collapsing back into his as she lets out the breath of air she'd been holding.

Their _what_? Oh.

She'd been imagining a son when he'd interrupted her in the tub. Huh… He likes the sound of that. Sebastian. It's a good name too. Okay, so this should be a good thing. Why is she so upset _now?_

"Sebastian," he says, smiling into her neck and nuzzling at her ear. "I like that name."

"You do?" she squeaks.

"Yeah, it means _revered_. It'd be a good name for our kid."

"It..._ would_?"

She's still sounding so uncertain; like she can hardly believe they are having this conversation. But she's not shutting him down and there's a certain ring of hopefulness and light in her voice that had been missing for the last few minutes. He presses on, not wanting to let her back out now that they are actually talking.

"Definitely. I'd be in awe of any child we created Kate. And Sebastian fits. You have to know this by now; I'd be honored to make a baby with you."

"I just thought…" She rolls over, so that she's facing him, and runs her hand down his jaw. "You said that part of your life was over… I don't want you to…"

Well damn him and his big mouth. He _did_ say that but it's totally _not _what he meant. He cuts her off with a finger against her lips.

"I just meant Alexis, Kate." She grins around the pad of his finger, a watery smile made even sweeter with the sheen of happy tears that spring to life before him as realization hits her. "Nothing would make me happier than to have a baby with you."

"Good." She nods. "Because I want one… With you. A boy."

"Not sure I can promise a boy," he retorts, laughing at her firm tone and the resolute sound of her voice. "But I'd certainly be happy to try."

He waggles his eyebrows and she playfully swats his shoulder.

"You're marrying me first," she says with a look that he's fairly sure is trying for stern. She hooks a leg around his own and he pecks her on the nose. She's cute when she's being bossy.

"Of course," he agrees, pulling open the towel and exposing her breasts to him. She doesn't even flinch at her sudden nakedness; he takes it as a good sign and lets his fingers trail down her collarbone.

"And I'm not gonna give up my job," she continues, leaning away from his embrace and fixing him with a look that implies no arguments.

He wouldn't have it any other way; he loves that she's a cop. He leans down and sucks a nipple into his mouth.

She's talking herself into it with every declaration and if Kate's way of coping with her own doubts and fears is to make firm assertions and easy to comply with demands, he's certainly not going to be the one to stop her.

"Never," he mumbles around the plump flesh in his mouth.

"You'd have to stay home with them."

_Them,_ huh? He grins and her nipple pops free. He trails a path with his mouth down her navel, slides a finger between her silken folds and finds her waiting for him, warm and wet.

"You're gonna have to…"

He curls his finger against her, massaging and bringing his mouth to her swollen bundle of nerves. Slowly, he savors the scent of her arousal and the taste of her center, willing her to let go.

"God, Castle!"

He grins against her thigh and lowers his head back down for more. Mission accomplished.

"We'll figure it out, Kate," he says against her mound. "Relax."

He swirls his tongue and she shudders beneath him, signaling the end to their conversation.

* * *

Jesus, she reflects. They'd just had the baby conversation. And it had gone quite well. Spectacularly well, she thinks as a moan escapes her.

His head is between her legs, tongue lapping gently around her clit, over her mound and along her folds. He lies at a right angle to her, his fingers stroking and probing between her thighs. She throws her head back, hips involuntarily arching to meet his mouth, and revels in the feel of him worshiping at her core.

His ministrations are divine and though she thinks that he would happily continue all night, she feels like giving rather than just receiving. But the awkward angle he's found himself in makes it impossible for her to reach him; his cock strains against his pajama pants, tenting the material, just inches out of her reach.

"God, Castle!" she cries as he sucks and swirls around her clit; her inner walls clench around his fingers.

"We'll figure it out," he mumbles, "Relax."

But she doesn't want to relax, she wants to have him. She wants to have him now. She needs him _in _her.

"Castle…" She tries again and he stops his actions to look up at her, a smug grin on his face.

"I'm busy," he replies, ducking his head again to lap at her folds.

"Castle," she whines.

His head appears again and he rolls his eyes at her.

"What?" he whines right back, in an eerily accurate interpretation of herself.

She manages to grab an earlobe, a habit she hasn't managed to break, and he whispers, "Apples."

She grins. It's not a habit she wants to break. It works so well, after all.

"I don't wanna relax."

"You don't?" he questions, his head cocking to the side in a way that makes him simply adorable to her, like a puppy confused about a new command. She'd ruffle his hair if she didn't have more pressing needs; call him a good boy and offer him a treat. But she has a much better idea.

"Nope," she grins. "I wanna make love."

He smiles, a goofy grin that extends all the way to his ears, but makes no attempt to move.

"To you, Rick."

He nods but makes no further attempt to assure her that he's understood. Kate huffs, and hauls him up by the earlobe.

"Ow, ow, ow! Easy, woman!" he cries, as she drags him upwards.

"Now," she grunts into his mouth as he finally springs into action and regains control of his abilities.

She locks her legs around his waist as he slides fully up the length of her body, until they are chest to chest, his body heat surrounding her in hot, undulating waves.

"Pants… Castle," she breathes as she feels his erection between her thighs. The fabric of his pajamas provides a frustrating friction and she grinds herself against him to make her point and ease some of the tension. He lets out a small gasp of pleasure and she delights in the sound.

With nimble fingers and patience she doesn't think that she possesses at this moment in time, he slowly lifts himself off her body and slides his pajamas down his legs until he is free of the offending material. He rests on his elbows, keeping his body lifted from hers, mere inches away, heat and electricity running like a current between them.

Her tongue darts out to moisten her lips, an instinctive response of anticipation, one she has no control over, and Castle leers at her, enjoying the response he elicits from her.

"Something I can help you with, Kate?"

She needs him so much; it's not merely a want or a desire anymore. It's a primal urge, a soul deep feeling of longing and emptiness that only he can fulfill. She needs him now; against her, around her, inside of her. She lifts her hips almost imperceptibly and as though pulled by magnetic force, his lower to meet her in the middle.

_Finally,_ she thinks as he glides up to meet her mouth in a searing kiss and his erection brushes against her center. She explores his mouth with her tongue, slow and deep, an imitation of what she hopes will soon be transpiring between her legs. He wraps his hand around the back of her neck, moaning deep in his throat as she threads a knee between his legs and rolls them to the side.

She reaches between them, closes her hand around him in a loose fist, marvels at how hard and ready he is. He moans as she strokes him and grazes her thumb over his tip, spreading the moisture that has already formed around his shaft. He cries out a harsh grunt and she bites her lip to keep from doing the same as his fingers probe her center with exact precision, two and then three until she is riding his hand with abandon.

She holds on, not wanting to release without him. It's not enough, she wants him inside, wants him filling her. But then he flicks the tight bundle of nerves at her center, strokes firmly, and she loses the battle, clutching desperately at the fibers of the shag rug as she tries to remain grounded.

"Let go," he commands, and she closes her eyes and does just that, writhing under his touch, until the stars fade from behind her eyes and her ears again register the soft crackle of the fireplace.

"I wanted to wait for you," she grumbles halfheartedly, knowing the cheesy grin all over her face is only matched by the smug one accompanying his.

"And I wanted to watch," he replies with a shrug.

She crashes her lips into his and he finally moves over her; she parts her legs in invitation. He doesn't need to be asked twice.

He pushes slowly into her, pauses for a second until she can adjust and then slides deeply until he's home, buried to the hilt and making her cry out.

"You okay?" he asks, stilling inside of her. He bites on his lower lip and she can tell it's taking a monumental effort for him to keep from moving.

God yes, she's more than okay. She aches for him to move already. Kate clenches her muscles to let him know it's okay to proceed; he lets out a small breathless gasp and she raises an eyebrow, daring him not to.

It's all the encouragement he needs and quickly he sets a steady rhythm that she eagerly meets thrust for thrust. His hands clench at her back, pulling her closer and drawing himself in; her palms slide over his sweat-slicked back and she moans as he shifts her legs so that he can penetrate deeper.

All tenderness is gone, replaced by a burning need as he pumps relentlessly into her. She teeters again on the edge of ecstasy, her body coiled up tight and aching for release.

"God… Castle…" she pants, "Come. Please."

He complies instantly, stiffening and then spilling into her in a seemingly endless series of jerking spasms. He sinks down onto her, his weight delightfully heavy, comforting, as he pants into the hollow of her collarbone. She breathes in his scent, a mixture of sweat and arousal, and trails her fingernails over his back as she slowly comes back down and the pulsations between her legs fade to an occasional twitch.

She stirs finally, and attempts to roll out from under him.

"Stay," he says, pulling her close.

"Wasn't going anywhere," she replies, shifting them until he is spooned behind her and she can watch the embers glowing in the slowly dying fire.

* * *

**I think I need a cigarette and a cold compress. Reviews might soothe me too. Did I manage to capture the essence of the 'Snugglefuck'?**

**This is the part where I express my undying love to Avi for being awesomesauce. **


	23. Chapter 23

"You know what's strange," he asks, absently running his fingertips up and down the exposed skin of Kate's side, tracing the silvery scar that he's learned to love; the evidence of her resilience and fight to live. In the beginning it had sent hot threads of panic straight to his heart, a reminder of how close to the edge they had come; the long, straight, surgery scar somehow more terrifying to him than the puckered and fading scar between her breasts.

"Hmm?" she replies dreamily, covering his hand with her own so that his index finger dips into the groove in her flesh. The skin feels silken and smoother than the surrounding tissue, thin, but as he presses down, he feels the resistance, the tactile proof that she is here… and whole.

He lets out a shuddering sigh; she squeezes his hand, affirmation that she gets it, urging him to finish the thought he had begun.

He curls himself into her, spooning her from behind, nudging the back of her knee with a foot until he can entwine his leg with hers. She shuffles backwards, exhales and melts into his body; he curls his toes into the shag carpeting, effectively locking her into his embrace.

"The basement door…" he mumbles into her ear, for a moment wondering if it's the right time for this discussion. She smells so good, is warm and relaxed in his grasp; he could easily fall asleep with her, worry about it in the morning.

It's probably not the best time or place to be discussing the case, still naked and curled up in front of the fire, but it keeps nagging his brain and demanding attention. He knows that he'll never sleep if they don't at least have some kind of plan or resolution in mind.

She must sense his unease because she wiggles out of his grasp and rolls over to face him, a knowing smile on her lips. There's no evidence of annoyance at him for breaking her post-coital haze he notes with a shrug of apology and a tilt of his head in her direction.

"The basement door," he repeats, "was locked from the inside."

Her eyebrows rise at that, gaze flitting to the side and teeth working her lip as she thinks back.

"You're right," she eventually concedes, returning her attention to him. "So?"

"Think about it Kate. William would have had to travel all the way through the caves to get back out."

"Huh…" she says, finally catching on to his train of thought. "And why would he do that, go to all that trouble, if he was just going to throw himself off the lighthouse only a short time later?"

"Exactly," he breaths out hurriedly. "So maybe he didn't want his story immediately known. Maybe he didn't trust the police to do their job if he just left his confession out in the open."

"You think someone from the police was in on the bootlegging?"

"It makes sense," he replies. "They were probably the one who killed Charlotte too."

"How so?"

"I find it odd that the local PD could brush off two suicides and not even bother with the possibility that one or both might have been a murder. There are a _lot_ of files Kate, but they all seem to focus on proving a suicide. It was obvious to you within minutes, from looking at the ME report, that she was murdered."

She considers a moment before speaking and Castle finds himself holding his breath as he waits.

"You're right; they _were_ awfully fast to write it off as a suicide. Unless William has some serious sway with the police, even for the twenties, it's unlikely they would have let him get away with spousal abuse without some kind of investigation being done."

He lets out the breath he'd been holding; it feels good to work a case with her. As much as he gripes about the early hours and long nights, the skipped meals, he's missed the theory-building these last few days.

"And the note from William makes it pretty obvious that he didn't kill her," he volleys back. "So who did? If not someone from the police, then why the cover-up?"

"If someone from the police was one of his partners then maybe they wouldn't have wanted to break their arrangement by accusing him of abuse or murder. You can't be certain a member of the local police force did it, Castle."

"I guess," he says, unconvinced. His gut is telling him that he's on to something.

"Okay, I'll give you that it looks suspicious," she relents. "But then wouldn't they also have known about the other entry? His stash in the basement? Wouldn't they have wanted to go back for it after William's death?"

"Maybe, but perhaps they didn't want to risk getting caught with the investigation and subsequent notoriety of the house. God knows, even eighty years later we were eager enough to get inside the house and go exploring. I can only imagine what it was like when the story was fresh."

"A regular rubberneckers dream," she comments in a droll tone.

He can tell that she's still not entirely convinced. Or maybe she just doesn't want to be reminded of yet another example of police corruption; they've certainly seen enough of that to last a lifetime.

He takes slow breaths, lets his forehead rest against hers as he calms himself down. She trails her hands gently through his hair, soothing and repetitive; it releases some of his frustration.

"Hell, maybe they were feeling guilty and just didn't want to revisit it," he says in a softer tone.

Though they know the causes of both deaths, this case still has him baffled and it doesn't sit right. Some small part of the puzzle is missing and until it falls into place he will never be able to shut off his mind.

She sighs. "It's not like anything else fits."

"If someone from the police department was involved there has to be evidence somewhere."

A nagging voice in his head reminds him that there is still the matter of the cocaine stash, the possibility that Melissa or her family is involved. The current smuggling operation _should_ be their main concern. Maybe he's just grasping at straws, trying to find a name that isn't Hamilton to tie to the deaths of William and Charlotte; something to negate the gnawing instinct that both cases are related.

"Hmm," she murmurs noncommittally.

"We need to look at those files again, Kate."

She laughs and rolls her eyes, apparently expecting this, uses his knee as a brace as she rises; she grins and holds out a hand for him to follow.

"Get the coffee, Castle. I'll go get dressed."

* * *

She dresses quickly, throwing on some yoga pants and a tank, lured by the smell of rich, gourmet coffee brewing upstairs.

Kate's never been one to cut herself off from caffeine just because it's nighttime. Years of continual abuse of the substance have earned her a resistance; it's not uncommon for her to enjoy a cup right before bed and have no trouble sleeping at all.

Besides, they won't be sleeping anytime soon even if it did have an effect. As much as her weary body craves bed, soothed by the warm bath and heavenly lovemaking by the fire, Castle is antsy and needs answers. The anxiety is practically crackling off of him.

She gets the feeling that they have a long night ahead of them, scanning over yellowed files and figuring out the details of William and Charlotte's demise and subsequent investigations. They haven't even begun to discuss the implications of the stash of cocaine they found in the caves, or the fact that maybe it's not a coincidence that the name Hamilton made an appearance in William's letter.

As much as the old case holds the allure of being solved to bring justice to the star-crossed lovers, the current-day case demands more attention; she needs to be sure that Castle is with her in her fears that his friend is somehow involved. She needs to be sure that he can handle it, wherever the evidence leads.

Yeah, they are going to need coffee. Lots and lots of coffee.

Kate jogs up the stairs and finds him setting two mugs onto the dining room table. She's about to make a beeline for the kitchen when he cuts off her forward progress with a few simple words, apparently reading her mind.

"Sit," he smiles, "I'll get the pot."

"Great minds," she murmurs, sitting at the table and scanning the mounds of files laid out before her.

She picks up an old manila folder and begins to read, giggles and shoves him out of her light as he sits beside her and pokes her playfully in the ribs.

"Quit it, Castle. You were the one wanting to forgo snuggle time for case files, remember?"

"Party-pooper," he grumbles, but he settles next to her and grabs a file of his own, offering her a smile before lowering his eyes to the documents.

The next hour or so is spent in companionable silence, the shuffle of papers and slosh of coffee cups being refilled the only soundtrack as they work separately but together in their quest to find the truth. They stack documents in front of them; files they think should be investigated further before moving on to the next.

Kate stops and sighs, coming to the end of her heap of paper, and looks over toward Castle. He's quiet, still and unmoving except for two fingers that trail back and forth over some words on a yellowing page. The same words, she notes, that caught her attention; a name.

"Castle," she says, a hint of unease lacing her voice. He doesn't even flinch.

He's out of it; a stern line has formed on his brow and he chews angrily on his lips, a habit he's picked up from her it would appear.

"Rick," she tries again softly, and slowly he lifts his gaze to her own.

She watches as the mask of incoherence disappears and he returns to the present. She reaches out, takes his hand in her own and squeezes. He smiles, albeit weakly, and nods his head in the direction of the stack of files in front of him.

"Hamilton," he says in a hushed voice.

He thumbs through the files, tossing each to the side while mumbling, "Hamilton. Hamilton, Hamilton, Hamilton."

She sighs, because yeah, hers too. The connection they've been looking for, that they dared to hope wasn't true, is laid out before them in stark reality. Each and every form, every note and all the evidence tickets, have been signed off by one _Arthur Hamilton_.

"Maybe they're not…" she starts, trying to soothe him.

But he cuts her off, "Kate… no."

"It could be a coincidence, Castle. I mean, it's not like it's an uncommon name…"

But in her heart, she knows the truth. She can feel it in her gut. And though he'd laugh at her and point out that she isn't supposed to believe in things such as fate and gut-instinct and the like, that it's his territory to be wildly speculative, she still knows it to be true. Rick's friend, Melissa Hamilton is somehow involved in their current-day case because it's just too damn convenient for two sets of smugglers to find the same set of caves and there _not_ be a connection.

"There's no such thing as…"

"Coincidences in a murder case," she finishes for him. "I know… I'm sorry, Castle. I think we both know where this is heading."

"I just… I don't want to go to the police until I know for sure, until we have some kind of proof," he says on a sigh. "I can't believe that Melissa would be involved in something like this. And I know, Kate… I know it's happened before but maybe that's it. I mean, how many people from my past can possibly be corrupt and not who I thought they were? Surely there's some kind of cosmic limit to these things. Am I that bad a judge of character? Maybe it's just…"

He's starting to ramble. Whether to assure her or himself, Kate isn't certain, but it needs to stop and he needs to calm down.

"I'll get the laptop," she says, patting him on the leg and ruffling his hair as she stands and quickly makes her way to the kitchen where she had left it days earlier. He sits, mid-sentence with his mouth ajar as he watches her go.

"You picked me didn't you? Can't be that bad a judge of character," she adds with a raised eyebrow. It closes his mouth and earns her a grin. And just like that, he's back.

"Best judge in the world," he says as she sits back down and powers on the laptop. "But I still have a bad feeling about this."

"Me too, Castle," she agrees. "But let's get this over with, huh? Then we can move on to more pleasant activities."

"Like sleeping?" he grins, understanding written all over his face.

"Exactly," she confirms.

Near death experiences tend to have an exhausting effect on the body and she's not even going to begin to think about the toll the rest of the weekend has taken. Much of it has been pleasant; the last few days and the risqué shenanigans they have engaged in. But an awful lot has been fraught with emotional distress and misunderstandings too. A good night's rest is what they both need, she thinks, refusing to travel down the path of what-ifs and if-onlys.

The computer search is quick and easy, she logs into the database and within seconds they have their answer. Arthur Hamilton is the grandfather of Castle's friend Melissa; deputy sheriff at the time of both deaths, turned local playboy only months after William's demise.

There's a connection all right, and with an exchanging of glances, now they have a plan.

"We'll go talk to her first thing in the morning," she says, cupping his jaw and grazing the side of her thumb over the rough patch of stubble that has formed over the course of the day. "For now, take me to bed, Castle."

* * *

**Betcha didn't expect another update so soon. Neither did I. It's almost like I want to write again.**

**Thanks to Deb, for sending me an ego boost and her blessing. To Nic, for finding typos. And to Avi, for being my constant source of both entertainment and annoyance at her nitpicking skills. Muah!**


	24. Chapter 24

Castle takes a long and winding road the next morning, stopping in at a quaint little village to grab a cup of sinfully strong coffee for both of them before turning once again back toward the direction of the house. Neither of them are feeling hungry with what they are about to embark on so they skip breakfast in favor of getting it over with sooner rather than later.

"Castle, where are we… is that the lighthouse?" she asks, as they crest a small hill and the structure comes into view.

"It is," he grins, "but never fear, Detective; I'm not looking for a repeat performance of yesterday. Although…" he trails off, his face betraying the dirty thoughts rushing through his mind.

After much smirking on his part and a pointed clearing of her throat, he continues.

"Melissa's estate is right next door," he finally chuckles, pointing far to the left of the lighthouse where a thick stand of trees marks a haphazard delineation between county land and the Hamilton Estate.

"Huh," Kate muses, "now it makes more sense."

"What does," Castle asks, confusion written all over his face.

"Your first kiss."

"I swear, the woman has the memory of an elephant," he mutters under his breath and Kate throws him a smirk.

"I wondered how a party happened to occur at the lighthouse, what with it being closed and all. Don't think I've forgotten about that story, Castle. I will weasel it out of you, you know."

He doesn't respond for a while and Kate can feel the tension rising as they climb ever closer to the estate in the distance. She wishes she could do something to lighten the mood.

"If what I think is going to happen today happens, it's going to lose a whole lot of its luster," he replies sulkily.

Kate feels for him. She fervently hopes that they have missed something; that his friend isn't behind the cocaine stash. She _liked_ Melissa in the brief time they spent chatting together over lunch.

She reaches over the console and pats him on the thigh. "First kisses never lose their luster, Rick," she assures him. "If anything, it'll add to the story." She throws him a wink and watches as the tension drains somewhat out of his body, and a slight twinkle returns to his eyes. She likes how easy it has become for her to be as much an anchor to him as he has been to her.

"Oh wow, now that you mention it, it does kind of add a little something to the tale, doesn't it? Young Rick Castle, seduced by the older, cocaine smuggling, cougar."

"See? There you go. Look at you, you big stud."

He gulps as what he has just said settles in.

"Yeah, you're right," Kate sighs. "Luster lost. Sorry about that, Castle."

He smiles at her, a small upturn of his lips, letting her know that it's okay, appreciating her effort anyway.

They drive on in silence, each lost in their own thoughts.

Kate prepares herself, both for a covert interrogation and to comfort Castle if need be. For now she needs to distract him. The silence is beginning to bother her and his lips can't take much more of a bruising; he worriedly chews on them, the area surrounding his teeth white, blushing to a deep red when he releases, only to pale again as he absently gnaws away on the flesh.

Eventually, she can't take it anymore and reaches for the radio, hoping that a little music will at least break up the silence. The reception is bad though and as she scans the airwaves, she finds that the only station that receives any signal is a hip-hop station playing bass-heavy tunes more suited to a frat party than a scenic drive in the country.

"Macklemore, Kate?" he questions with a raised eyebrow.

"No good?" she replies, grinning cheekily, not being able to help bouncing a little in her seat to the bass line.

"Just can't picture you ever setting foot in a thrift shop," he laughs, gesturing to her shoes, a pair of Cole Haan pumps that, shamefully, aren't even close to the most expensive in her closet. She can admit it; she has a problem when it comes to heels. But it's not like he should be complaining. She hasn't failed to notice the way his eyes light up when she wears an especially high pair of boots or strappy heels.

"Like you can talk," she barbs right back, eyeing his Armani shirt, the way it hugs his pecs and silhouettes his biceps.

Mm. Nope, no complaints here either.

She hums along to the song, occasionally rapping out a lyric or two when she knows them. He joins her for the hook and they laugh at their ridiculousness as they near two large pillars that signal the beginning of what looks to be an enormous property.

"How do you even know this song?" he teases. "What are you? Fourteen?"

"You know, I could ask you the same thing, Castle."

"Alexis. What's your excuse?"

He drives on, barely suppressing his laughter and throwing her knowing glances.

"…I just like it, alright?" she finally huffs.

He smirks and waggles his eyebrows at her.

"Shut up and drive!" she laughs with a light jab to his shoulder.

"I'm gonna pop some tags, only got 20 dollars in my pocket," he sings as they pull into a long driveway.

Kate joins in as they pull up to a circular turn-around. "This is fucking awesome!"

Castle parks the car off to the side of the driveway, and side by side they make their way up to the front steps of the stately mansion, pulling themselves back together and stifling the giggles that keep threatening to escape.

Ivy climbs the weathered, stone façade and well-established willow trees dot the large front lawn. The Estate is almost cliché in its strict conformation to the Tudor style but Kate can't help but to smile as a heady waft of roses is carried over on the breeze.

The perfectly pruned rose garden leads to what looks like a pool house and an Olympic sized swimming pool; tennis courts lie even further off in the distance.

"Jesus, Castle," Kate says, eyes wide as she takes in her surroundings. "This place is incredible! It looks like something straight out of a magazine."

"Yeah, it's amazing, isn't it?" he agrees, leading the way up the steps. "It belonged to some kind of oil baron before the Hamiltons took it over. Apparently his wife longed for the old country, and since he was stationed in the States for business, he spent a small fortune instead bringing England to her."

"_Small_ fortune?" Kate scoffs with wide eyes.

"Alright, he spent more than the GDP of a few small countries. The point being, this place is awesome," he grins.

She rolls her eyes for his benefit, knowing that the song is still running through his head as it is hers. Fucking awesome is just about right, she thinks, gazing around at her surroundings.

"It must be amazing inside," Kate says dreamily, already imagining the artwork and antiques that are sure to be lining the floors and dotting the walls.

"Well quit ogling the gardens and knock on the door," he replies with a smirk.

She'd punch him for the remark, but it's true. She was_ definitely_ ogling. Kate's not exactly struggling for money, and by most people's standards Castle is loaded, but this is a whole other level. She can't even imagine the kind of money required to purchase this kind of place.

And they say crime doesn't pay, she thinks, letting out a derisive snort before ringing the doorbell.

"Look, Castle…" she says, sobering as they wait for someone to answer the door. "If you want me to take point, I'd understand."

"I still can't believe that it's her," he says, scrubbing his hands over his face. "But no, I think I'd rather handle it."

"Wasn't it you who said that there's always a story?"

"Yeah… so?"

"So let's just agree to find out the story, huh? We'll worry about the after…after," she smiles, grabbing his hand and giving it a reassuring squeeze.

"Yeah…"

He doesn't sound particularly convinced.

"The truth shall set you free, Castle."

He gives her a look, one eyebrow rising in question, the beginnings of a smile starting to quiver at the corners of his lips.

"Too much?"

Kate grins, knowing her cheesy line has done the trick. She gives him a soft hip-check as the sound of footsteps approaches the front door.

"Yeah, a little," he smirks, bumping her back with his own. "But thanks. Come on, Detective. Let's go wrangle ourselves a drug mule."

* * *

The door opens to reveal an older man dressed in tails. If the outfit wasn't a giveaway then the accent certainly is.

"May I help you?" the butler asks in thick and precisely enunciated English.

Castle thinks the man would be more suited to Buckingham Palace than a beach house in the Hamptons. Although to be fair, there is nothing at all 'beachy' about this house and 'house' almost seems like an insult to the grand old mansion. Something about him niggles at the back of Castle's mind.

"We're here to see Melissa…" Kate starts. But she is interrupted by the woman herself before she can complete the sentence.

"Oh for goodness sakes," Melissa cries, trotting hurriedly down the long hallway. "Let them in already."

"Yes ma'am."

The butler bows, moves out of the entranceway and back down the hall with a small shake of his head and a quiet huff of air. Castle can't help but smile. Melissa never did seem to enjoy the assistance of servants; it's good to know that some things haven't changed.

Before he can even say 'good morning' he is ensconced in a tight hug that he feels compelled to return.

"Ricky!" Melissa greets happily, "and Kate too!" she continues, leaning out of the embrace and patting him on the cheek. "Oh, what a lovely surprise. It's about damn time you two showed up."

She continues to gush as she herds them down a long, marble-floored hallway and into an opulently decorated sunroom overlooking the ocean.

"So, to what do I owe the pleasure," she asks, smiling as she gestures to a seating area in front of a large stone-clad fireplace. "Don't be shy, Kate," she says as Beckett hovers behind an antique chaise lounge. "Take a seat and I'll get that stuffy old butler to bring us some coffee."

Inwardly, Castle flounders, shifting uncomfortably on the antique sofa. The stiff fibers make his back itch; the morning sun is a little too bright in his eyes as it shines through the large picture windows.

He finds himself torn between anger that Melissa could have deceived him all these years, trepidation about the conversation that is to follow and an overwhelming sense of happiness at his old friend's hearty welcome.

"So, Rick. What brings you here this morning?" she says, with a warm smile.

His gut churns. He'd told Kate he wanted to do this but now that he's in her presence he's once again struck by the notion that it's simply impossible that Melissa is behind the cocaine ring.

"Uh, we were just wondering…" he begins. There's a slight stammer to his voice and he cringes at the sound of it.

"We were over exploring the lighthouse yesterday," Kate cuts him off, saving him, putting a hand on his thigh and squeezing to garner his attention. "And I couldn't help but wonder about its history; it's simply gorgeous. I asked Rick but you know him…"

Kate rolls her eyes dramatically and Melissa lets out a chuckle, nodding; he could kiss her for salvaging the moment.

"He does tend to embellish," Melissa agrees, grinning smugly at him.

"Hey, I resent that," he cries, the weight in his stomach easing with the easy banter.

"You know it's true," Kate smirks, knocking shoulders with him. "Anyway, he told me that if I didn't believe him, I should come and ask you. And so here we are."

"Well, whatever the reason, I'm glad you're here," Melissa says sincerely. "I was beginning to think you two would never come up for air."

Castle chokes, sputtering a little as Kate blushes next to him.

"Yeah, well… it's still new," Kate says shyly. "You know how it is."

He'd really like to kiss her right now. The blush that creeps up her neck is so damn appealing.

Melissa sighs, a wistful smile gracing her features. Castle feels his heart pull for his old friend; her husband Rob had run off with a girl not much older than Alexis a few years ago, leaving her withdrawn and unwilling to socialize. Their relationship had faltered when she'd married, degraded to nothing more than polite chitchat by the time they'd divorced, and then he'd been so wrapped up in his own dramas that he hadn't even bothered to visit her the last time he'd been in the Hamptons. He fights the wave of guilt that creeps up on him. They are here to find some answers after all. He can't let his emotions get in the way. Not like last time with Damian.

She seems happier now though, more like her old vivacious self that he remembers from so long ago, and even if she is guilty, he finds himself hoping it's true; wishing her happiness.

Kate seems to sense the sobering mood and quickly presses on, "So _I_ claim it's just a rotting old house with a tragic backstory."

Melissa shakes her head, as though clearing away the bad memories and the easy smile returns as she nods her head in apparent agreement with Kate.

"He, _of course_," Kate says, poking him playfully in the ribs "claims the place is still embroiled in mystery and intrigue."

"I gotta say Rick, I'm with Kate here. Sorry to burst your bubble."

He doesn't detect Melissa showing any signs of evasion. She's not sweating, isn't avoiding eye contact; she seems to genuinely be ignorant to any illegal activities surrounding the lighthouse. He quickly lets his gaze flit to Kate; the twitch in her brow tells him that she's thinking the same thing. They've gone in together on enough interrogations to read the other's tells.

Suddenly he's glad that he let Kate take the lead and that she eased them into this conversation. He's been burned before and he hadn't trusted his judgment. He probably would've accused her and broken their friendship before they'd ever gotten any information. Still, it's no coincidence that the name Hamilton keeps coming up.

They need to press on but at that moment the butler arrives, carrying a tray loaded with pastries, and a silver decanter, steaming and emitting the rich and strong aroma of good coffee. Melissa thanks the man but he says nothing, simply nodding and leaving the room with the customary bow. Castle again seems to recognize the man and he scours his brain trying to find the connection. He chuckles when it hits him.

"Is that…? Leo?"

"Yep, one and the same," Melissa replies. "But he only responds to Leopold now." She rolls her eyes. "Remember when he was just a gangly teenager lusting after my girlish figure?"

"But… that accent? What on earth happened to him?"

"His father sent him to England to carry on the family tradition when he hit eighteen. He came back a year later with the accent and completely devoid of any and all good humor. Apparently it's all part of the training."

"Huh… That's kind of sad."

"I don't know. He seems to enjoy himself. You'd be surprised at the amount of respect that stuffy accent garners him. Still, I've never gotten used to being waited on hand and foot; he gets off pretty easy with just me around the house though. Coffee?" she says, rising and beginning to pour the inky black liquid into three hand-painted and homemade looking mugs.

Castle has been expecting china, but then that was never really Melissa he thinks, remembering the down to earth girl that he once knew. Her father was always the one insisting on using the bone china and putting on airs for company. He wonders where her father is. Once upon a time he couldn't step foot inside the Hamilton house without the gruff man expecting a full rundown of all the latest happenings in his and his mother's life.

"That would be great," Kate responds, not at all to Castle's surprise. The woman has never turned down a free cup of coffee.

"Sure," Castle says, not quite as eagerly; his bladder is already bemoaning the large cup they gulped down before coming over here.

"As for the lighthouse and the reason for your visit," Melissa says, sitting down once they both have a steaming mug of coffee in their hands, "I don't see the appeal. It's dirty and it's downright dangerous; I wish they'd just tear the old house down."

Rick raises his eyebrows at that. Surely if Melissa had anything to do with the cocaine ring, she'd want to keep everything as-is. As the conversation wears on he is becoming more and more certain of her innocence.

"Just don't breathe a word of that to the boys in this family," she laughs.

This time it's Kate raising an eyebrow in his direction. He can tell by the sudden flash of insight in her eyes that she's onto the same train of thought that he is. He offers her a slight nod to confirm that he agrees.

"Nick hasn't been there for years but Owen… it seems he never wants to leave that place. He says he enjoys the view and the ambiance. Personally, I'd rather stay here. It's not like our view is exactly lacking," she says, smiling in the direction of the full ocean views that surround two walls of the sunroom. "And the accommodations are certainly a lot nicer."

"What is Owen doing these days anyway?" Castle asks casually, latching onto the idea that it's the men in the family who are running the show. Melissa never had seemed interested in the family business. "Last I'd heard he was about to graduate Harvard. But that must have been a few years ago now. I'm ashamed to admit that I never did ask the other day; I was too preoccupied in preparing for the party. Thanks for sending them over, by the way, they were a huge help."

Melissa chuckles, "Oh trust me, it was their pleasure. Or, well, I should say Nick's pleasure at least. I've heard nothing but 'Alexis this' and 'Alexis that' from him ever since. She made quite the impression on him, I think. I hear they plan on meeting up in the city next weekend."

Castle stiffens at the mention of Nick; it's still a bit of a sore spot. He might never be ready to hear that his little girl is in fact… a woman. Kate rubs soothing circles on his leg and he forces himself to relax. Alexis _is_ indeed a grown up though, he _has_ to trust her judgment. Much as it pains him to do so.

"Yeah, he made the same impression on her, I think," he finally replies, smiling when he remembers the joyful look on his daughters face as she had talked about the boy. "So, the boys, what _are _they up to these days?"

"Owen never did finish school," she says, a regretful frown overtaking her face. "When Rob left, I was a mess. He came home to smack some sense into me, thank god, but then he never left. Dad snatched him up for the family business and has been keeping him busy ever since."

She's quiet for a moment but they wait, hoping that she'll reveal a little more without them having to press.

"It's been a few years now. Still, he seems happy. I really hope Dad will keep his hooks out of Nick though; I'd hate to see him lured by the easy money too. He has such a passion for science, he claims that one day he's going to cure cancer." She smiles now, beaming proudly. "You know what? I believe him too."

"That's great," Castle agrees heartily, glad to hear that the man his daughter has chosen seems to at least have a head on his shoulders.

"What does your father do?" Kate asks, leading the conversation back to their covert investigation. Castle smiles at how easily she manages it. The woman is a master.

"Yeah, actually 'Liss, you know all these years later and I still don't have a clue."

Melissa lets out a loud guffaw. "You know this is going to sound terrible," she says, "but honestly? I haven't the foggiest!"

"How can you not…" Kate trails off, incredulous.

"Well don't get me wrong, I mean I see them doing things; going to meetings, rushing off for important phone calls and such. But apart from the occasional gathering at the house when I am expected to chat up investment bankers and the like, they don't really share."

"I just can't imagine not knowing," Kate replies, her voice still holding a tone of disbelief.

Melissa sighs, the look on her face and slight shake of her head indicating that perhaps she's a little disbelieving of it herself.

"Growing up, Dad always said that he didn't want us girls being bothered with it. You know how he is Castle," she huffs. "It's very old fashioned and he's an incredibly boorish man. That's how he wanted it and I knew better than to question him too hard. He has a…"

Melissa exhales slowly and Castle knows where this is going. He'd witnessed the elder Hamilton's temper from time to time growing up.

"Let's just say that eventually I stopped asking. If he was so insistent on taking care of me until he could marry me off, then I figured, why not? At the time it gave me the freedom to pursue my art."

She gestures to a gorgeous watercolor standing up on an easel on the far side of the room. It's all vivid blues and dusky greens, abstract and yet undoubtedly inspired by the view from this room.

"Later," she continues, "it gave me time to raise the boys. Not very modern of me, I know," she finishes with a shrug.

"Nothing wrong with staying home to raise a child," Kate says gently, surprising Castle.

He doesn't think she's the type to want to stay home, regardless of the fact that he's now almost certain that she wants family with him at some point; maybe even sometime soon.

"Why Mister Mom over here did a fantastic job of it himself," she grins, poking her tongue out at him.

And there she is; his ever-snarky yet lovable and incredibly sexy sidekick.

Melissa chuckles. "That he did," she agrees.

Again, he wants to kiss her, for once again turning the tide of the mood in the room.

"So where _are_ the boys today?" Castle asks.

"Nick's upstairs actually," Melissa says, grinning. "Probably got his earphones in and is Skyping with your daughter, if I had to guess, since he hasn't made an appearance yet."

Castle shudders dramatically.

"Oh calm down, Rick," she says, "I think they are adorable together."

"Yeah, they actually are," he grudgingly admits, thinking back to the night on the beach, the evening of the party as Kate had dragged him in the opposite direction from his giggling daughter.

"But Owen and Dad should be back any minute," she says checking her watch. "They took the boat out early this morning; said that they were going to catch us some fish for dinner." She laughs and continues. "I had Leo take out some lamb anyway. These fishing trips never result in anything substantial, if at all. They said they'd be back in time for lunch though. You simply must stay and say hello."

Kate and Rick exchange panicked glances, the air suddenly becoming charged with tension as it hits them that this is their chance.

"What is it?" Melissa asks, her brows furrowed in confusion.

"'Liss," Castle says gently. "We need to talk."

* * *

**Macklemore moment for Tiff. Because she's awesome and has the flu and needs a laugh. **

**Much love to Kellie for the fantastic on the fly betaing and typo finding. Also, for wishing and hoping. ;)**

**To Avi, for being awesome even though she isn't a Macklemore fan and scoffed at the addition. **

**And to the rest of you, faithful readers, for being my cheering squad. **

**Getting close to the end now. **


	25. Chapter 25

"You know what you have to do," Kate says.

"I know what you want me to do," Melissa replies, sorrow reflected in her eyes, in the slow drop of her shoulders.

"Liss," Castle tries, but she cuts him off with a firm hand on his forearm. Melissa needs to work this out for herself.

Melissa rises and Kate watches as she paces back and forth, deep tracks forming in the soft pile of the rug. A foghorn groans somewhere out on the water, travelling over the rolling green lawn and carried on the breeze; it's a haunting and mournful sound. The house that earlier seemed so grand to Kate now just feels enormous and lonely.

She wonders if Melissa will be able to do it. Somebody needs to make a call to the police. The men will be returning soon with the evidence they need in that boat. If Melissa doesn't make a decision soon, Kate will be forced to make it for her. Her hand hovers over her pocket, her fingers tracing the hard, smooth line of her cell phone.

Melissa stills at the French doors, looking out over the grounds of the estate. "All this will be gone," she says quietly. "Our whole life. Gone. How am I supposed to…"

Outside, the wind is loud and there is a faint rumble of thunder in the distance. Still, the sky is bright and impossibly blue, there is a grey line of high, swollen clouds far in the distance; the calm before the storm. Fitting, Kate thinks.

The door to the sunroom opens softly but with the stifling silence in the room the rapid snick of the latch is deafening.

"Mom? Mr. Castle…" Nick says, looking between the three of them with wary eyes. "What's going on in here?"

Melissa straightens, eyes brightening momentarily at the sight of her younger son. "Nick," she says, holding out her hand. It trembles with the effort of self-control.

Kate watches the interaction with interest. It's obvious that Melissa cares deeply about her son; she wonders in what way this will sway her in her decision though. Kate doesn't know if she would be able to turn her father in if she were in that situation; she can't even imagine if her child was involved as well.

He quickly crosses the room and takes her hand, a look of dread across his face. "What is it?"

She shakes her head, sad and resigned. "It's bad."

"Mom, just tell me."

"Nick, I need you to call the police."

* * *

Castle's footfalls are heavy and loud on the wood floor as he trudges up behind her. Kate sits on a bar stool at his kitchen counter, dazed, her vision blurry as she massages the throbbing pain between her eyes with her thumb and forefinger. He collapses onto his elbows at the counter beside her, groaning when his head meets granite in a sickening thud.

"Did that really just happen?" he asks her, incredulity still lacing his voice, three hours later.

"Uh-huh…"

She hasn't quite wrapped her mind about the bizarre chain of events that apprehending the Hamiltons had turned into either.

"With the Sheriff…"

"Yup."

She shakes her head in disbelief and then lowers it to the granite, resting her throbbing head on the cool countertop and contenting herself by watching his face as he again works through the strange details of the close of the case.

"And Nick, with the vase…"

He's wide-eyed for a moment, blue eyes sparkling in remembrance. Castle lets loose with a soft chuckle and she grins in return.

"Kid's got a good arm," she comments, remembering the high and perfect arc of the Chinese antiquity as it sailed across the sunroom and hit his grandfather square between the eyes.

"Melissa was…"

"Didn't think she had it in her, frankly," Kate interrupts. "I don't know how to thank her. That took a lot of guts."

Both physically and emotionally, Melissa had proven herself invaluable when push came to shove; she'd jostled past her father and dived onto the sheriff as he'd gone for his gun and aimed it directly at Kate's head. If not for Melissa, Kate shudders to think about how the day might have ended.

He laughs, "Yeah, the lady's got spunk taking down the sheriff like that."

Sniveling little ass, she thinks angrily. The sheriff had rubbed her the wrong way when they had asked for the files on William and Charlotte, but she never would have suspected that he was involved in the smuggling. Frankly, she didn't think he had the brains to pull it off.

Gently, Kate knocks her forehead against his own to garner his full attention. When he blinks and raises his eyebrows in question, she prepares to set him up for a fall. He's beginning to wallow in the what-ifs and nothing gets them back on an even keel quicker than some gentle ribbing.

"That was a nice touch too, Castle. Using the cord for the drapes as a binding for the kid."

"I thought it was pretty MacGyver-like," he grins, lifting his head up from the countertop, standing and puffing up with pride.

Oh, it's almost too easy. Has he forgotten what happened? Blocked it out so soon?

"Woulda helped if you had tied him in the back though," she laughs, sitting up and poking him in the ribs. "Good thing he didn't fight it much on your second attempt."

"Let's never speak of it again," he growls, pouting. His lower lip looks delectable.

She sobers for a moment. It could have turned out a lot differently if both of the armed officers in the room had been dirty.

"Thank god the deputy was straight."

"I wasn't sure when he picked up the painting."

"Eh, it did the job," she says, biting back the smirk and recollecting the shocked face of the elder Hamilton. He had attempted to seize Melissa; the deputy had grabbed the nearest thing and pushed it clean over the old man's head.

"That it did," he chuckles. "You think he forgot about his gun?"

God only knows. Maybe it's a side-effect of small town policing. She thinks that it might actually be nice to be a cop in a place where a need to pull your gun rarely, or perhaps even never, arises. Still, it's a shame about Melissa's watercolor.

She cracks then, unable to maintain the straight face a minute longer. She can't help but keep picturing the old man's ashen face surrounded by the bright and cheery painting.

"God," she snorts, "Castle, this was supposed to be a nice, little holiday by the sea. How the hell did any of this happen?"

He shakes his head, shrugs and wraps his arms around her waist, nuzzling into her neck from behind.

"Complete and utter cluster-fuck," he whispers, a broken staccato into her ear. "But hey, we solved two cases, one cold, and still managed to fit in a little _recreation_. All in just a few days. That has to be some kind of record." He places a gentle kiss to the side of her head, his lips gently pressed into her hair. "All's well that ends well, right?"

She smiles in agreement and nods her head. It ended as well as it could have, all things considered.

"Well, in general I guess… Melissa and Nick are gonna have a hard time of it. You know, I was thinking I might setup a college fund for him. Poor kid's getting the raw end of the deal. He looked so broken when he heard the story. I'd hate to think that he couldn't complete his studies; not when he's worked so hard."

Her stomach flips at his words; his interminable kindness and generosity. Overwhelmed and completely turned on by this softer side of him, she turns, quickly, capturing his mouth with her own.

"God, I love you," she moans into his mouth. He kisses her back with fervor, their tongues clashing for dominance.

Abruptly, he pulls back, eyes narrowing in suspicion. She groans at the loss of contact.

"Did I just taste pie?"

She grins, smug but feeling maybe just a little bit guilty. She'd finished off the last of it while he was in the shower. She gestures to the empty pie tin sitting atop the counter and musters up her best contrite face.

"I'm sorry?" She's not really. It was delicious. Even if it did make her blush as she'd remembered the last time she'd tasted apple pie.

"No you're not."

"Nah, I'm really not," she grins. "You snooze, you lose, Castle."

"Oh, I don't plan on snoozing anytime soon," he says, catching her lips quickly within his own.

"But I might..." He drags his teeth down her neck, his tongue soothing the burn and sending a flood of warmth to her center.

"Have to punish you…" He bites down on her collar bone and quickly kisses it better.

"For not sharing."

If this is his idea of castigation, he can punish her anytime.

* * *

******I know, I know. I _know_! This update took forever. But I _did_ go and write 'Eight by Ten' in between. Before spoilers. Go read it! And maybe leave a review? And also, may I just say, "I told you so." So very excited about that story-line actually being played out on my screen.**

**One chapter left! Two, tops, if it gets longer than intended. You see that little box below? It'd be lovely if you used it and told me what you think. About this chapter. Or my procrastination. Hell, the story in general now that all that's left is a little smuff.**

**(Smutty fluff for any who were wondering)**

**Thanks to Kellie for the quicky beta. If you see any mistakes, blame me, I went and added stuff later on.**

**Hugs and love and affection to Nic, and Avi, for being my cheering squad while I wallowed in self-flagellation and doubt about where to go with this chapter and for not being upset when I basically said, "Screw it!" and did away with a good three chapters worth of unnecessary exposition.**


	26. Chapter 26

**Previously on Hard Candy (because it's been way too long): After solving two cases, Caskett is about to get busy in the kitchen. But first, Castle's going to have a little fun with Kate because she was bad and ate the last of the apple pie.**

**Moving on:**

* * *

"If this is your idea of punishment," she smiles, lunging for his mouth, the swirl of her tongue along the roof of his mouth sending a shiver of excitement all the way down to his toes. "You may have to revise your methods of castigation."

"So hot when you use big words," he growls into her mouth as her hand travels hotly down his torso and toward the waistband of his pants. "I gotta say though," he gasps, "a little too close to castration for my liking."

Sweatpants, he thinks. Thank goodness for small favors. He'd almost put on jeans. Then there would have been buttons to deal with, a zipper; such a waste of valuable time. And there is simply no time. Not when she almost lost her life. Again. Not when she's cupping him in her palm and certainly not when she's only wearing panties and one of his T-shirts; when he can smell her arousal, wafting like a heady bouquet between them.

No. There is no time for taking this slow or savoring the moment. He needs to have her, be inside her, be ensconced and surrounded by her. But first, he wants her to beg; just a little. Because she ate the last of the apple pie and he had plans for that pie. Reciprocal plans. She would have loved those plans.

Roughly, he slides a hand between them, finds her underwear sodden as she pants into his neck and grinds her pelvis into his palm. The fingers on his other hand dance along her spine, sinking into the grooves of her ribcage as her back arches into his touch.

"Castle," she whines, a palm coming to rest on his bare chest, her fingers toying with the soft hairs.

He flips the thin, lace material to the side and with no preamble, inserts two fingers into her center. God, she's so wet; so ready for him.

"Hmm?" he says, licking his lips, resting his forehead against hers and gazing down at his fingers as they slowly disappear inside her, as they reappear gleaming and soaked with her juices.

"Castle," she huffs again, a bit of irritation lacing her words. She pulls her head away to give him a glare; at the same time, thrusts her hips into his space. He grins; he likes it when she gets demanding.

"Is there a problem?" he asks, feigning innocence and stilling his fingers inside her. He outright leers at the sight of her leaning back against the counter, elbows resting on the granite and legs splayed. Her eyes are dark with a slightly menacing gleam as she grunts out her next words.

"I want you inside of me."

Wanton. She's downright wanton and he's the one who put her in that state. His cock twitches with the thought and he crowds back into her space, straddling one of her thighs, hoping to ease some of the pressure that he too is beginning to feel.

"But Kate, I am," he grins, curling the fingers inside of her and stroking along her inner walls.

"Not what I... ahh... meant," she grunts as he hits a particularly sweet spot.

"You seem to be enjoying yourself," he hisses, adding a third finger to the mix, tracing circles around the engorged little nub of nerve cells with his thumb, rubbing everywhere but the spot that he knows will knock her over the edge to find her release.

"Oh my god, Rick, you're such a tease!" she complains, righting herself, sitting up from the counter and rotating her hips, trying to chase his thumb with her pelvis. The motion crushes her to him, her chest heaving and he takes an earlobe into his mouth. He bites down when she lifts her thigh, grinding against his groin and reminding him that she's not the only one who's worked up.

The rickety, white stool rocks with her actions, and for a split-second Castle has a vision of her toppling over the edge and falling to the floor. The sickening way his stomach drops is enough to pull his attention back to the task at hand and put an end to his little game of punishing her. Besides, with the way her fingers are teasingly dragging up and down his shaft, it feels like it may be her doing most of the punishment anyway. It's downright cruel the way she is massaging his swollen tip with her thumb and forefinger.

She groans as he pulls back and off of her thigh. Her mouth chases his, causing her to slide off the stool into his embrace. Heat roars off of her as she winds her arms around his waist, her hands seeking, crawling into the back of his pants, her fingers digging into flesh.

Before she can take her next breath, he skims her panties over her ass and lets them drop to the floor; claims her mouth with his own, shuffling her backwards and resting his palms on the countertop so that she is caged in between. Her chest heaves, every exhale causing her hardened nipples to strain against the cotton of her shirt and graze against his torso.

"No more teasing," he says huskily, his hands spanning her waist and easily lifting her up onto the counter. She lets out a small gasp of surprise as her ass hits the cool granite and he chuckles as her legs wrap around his torso, dragging him to her.

"I love you in my clothes," he says toying with the hem of one of his dress shirts.

Is it the soft curves that he knows are hidden beneath the draping material, or maybe just the thought that she wants to cloak herself in his scent? He loves the way she wraps a hand around the fabric while sleeping, unconsciously nuzzling the collar to her nose; it manages to be both adorable and excruciatingly arousing. There's almost nothing sexier than Kate Beckett wearing one of his shirts. Nothing except…

"Yeah, but you love me even more out of them," she barbs, lifting her arms, stealing his next words before he has the chance.

He complies with her nonverbal demand, raising the soft cotton over her head and eyeing her with a dark smile as he takes in the creamy skin of her torso and the twin mounds of rounded flesh; pert little nipples that virtually beg him to take them into his mouth.

"I love you any way I can get you," he says before plunging his mouth to her chest, taking one puckered nub into his mouth.

"Mm…" is her only response.

He lifts his head to gaze up at her and she stares back with hungry, lust-filled eyes. "Can't get enough of you," he says, releasing the breast and laving his tongue over her chest. He swirls his tongue around the now mostly healed scar, continues until he takes the other nipple into his mouth.

"Rick, please," she says, two hands coming to cup his face. Her nipple releases with a wet pop and he groans as she draws him back up to a standing position. Damn it, he was enjoying himself.

"Stop. I want you inside me."

His disappointment will be short-lived.

"Well then, if the lady says stop…"

He grins and she rolls her eyes.

Kate wiggles her hips then, until she is teetering on the edge of the countertop, a soft squeak as she shimmies to the brink. She splays her legs wide and rests them on two stools, her center completely open to him. He thinks he might be dying of a coronary, the way his heart is pounding in his chest.

Then she raises an eyebrow that is all cocky self-assurance and impatient expectation, and she waits. Modesty isn't even an afterthought. God, he loves her.

"Rick…"

Uh-oh, she's using his first name, he thinks. She means business. He values his life.

Quickly, he thumbs his pants off and lets them drop, taking a step forward until his throbbing sex is nudging at her core. She spreads her legs even further, raises her hips, and suddenly he finds the top half of his penis rubbing against her slit in earnest; histhe head throbs as it makes erratic contact with her opening, balls tightening when she slips a hand between them and nudges him inside.

"Ah," he groans as he slides into her.

She tightens her legs around his waist, drawing him all the way home, until he is flush with her groin. She locks her ankles together behind his back, heels digging into his ass, and cries out as he makes his first drive.

"Castle…" she gasps, her eyes wide and locked to where their bodies meet; they glimmer with unshed tears and her pupils are a deep, inky black.

He looks down, watches with awe as he moves in and out of her. It's nothing new, for him to indulge in watching this most intimate act, but this time the air around them buzzes, electrified and thrumming with something deeper. He draws in and out unhurriedly, almost painfully slow, mesmerized by the sight.

In and out, slow and deep, until it all becomes clear. They are already married. Like this they are one; joined not only physically but mentally as they gaze into each other's eyes. Proposals and engagements and ceremonies be damned; they are already married. Making it official is just playing with semantics.

"Beautiful," he says, stilling, reaching for her face so that he can draw her in for a long, slow kiss. "So fucking beautiful, Kate."

She groans into his mouth and clenches around him, draws him deeper with a quiver around his shaft.

"Keep doing that and I won't last long," he warns, biting her lower lip for emphasis.

She reaches a hand between them and begins to make slow circles around her clit; her knuckles pressed into his abdomen, enhancing the sensations in his groin. He draws out and slams back home; she clenches again, less controlled, a shuddery spasm this time, and moans his name.

"I'm just about there," she says, her hand now working a furious pace as he rocks back and forth and valiantly struggles to maintain some semblance of control. Her free hand claws at his bicep, nails digging into his flesh, leaving small, half-moon imprints that tingle and burn. He shudders between thrusts as she tightens like a vice around him.

Sensing she's about to come he lets go, loses control and begins to drive with abandon; her fingers slip free and he draws her up so that she straddles his hips, her ass cradled in his palms.

"I'm gonna…" she croaks.

"Together," he whispers, cupping her jaw with one hand and angling her face towards him as his groin tightens and his imminent explosion threatens.

She calls out, her sex fluttering around him; he cries out her name and his body trembles as he releases into her.

* * *

Kate reels.

The trees shake gently in the breeze; leaves flutter and shimmer golden in the evening light. Her heart powers in her chest. Holding his hand and watching him out of the corner of her eye, she lets him lead her down the dusty path.

The enormity of the moment rises and falls in lurching waves. It's like nothing she ever would have imagined from him and yet everything she had dared to hope for.

"Castle, why are we here?" she asks quietly.

"Hush, woman." He smiles and squeezes her hand, continues to walk, not offering up any further information. Leaves crunch under her feet as butterflies dance in her belly.

"You know exactly why we're here," he says, throwing her a raised eyebrow, daring her to challenge him.

Yeah, she knows. She knows exactly what he is up to; it doesn't make it any less terrifying. She feels her cheeks flush with warmth and ducks her head, screening her face behind a curtain of hair.

Today is the day that he asks her to marry him again. The day that she says, "yes".

* * *

It had started last night, while they made love on the kitchen countertop.

In the past she might not have classified quick and dirty sex on the kitchen counter as making love, but with Rick… well, she was now used to long-held assumptions being broken and obliterated by his almost uncanny ability to both charm and astound her.

His eyes had held hers, never once blinking as she fell apart beneath him; the connection had been powerful, undeniable. She had nodded as he'd chanted her name, bobbed her head again and again as his rough voice had pleaded her name.

Yes, Rick. Yes. Yes.

The secretive smile as he returned from his expedition to get the 'good stuff' this morning, handing over the paper cup of coffee with a timid glance, as though expecting her to poke him in the ribs or tug on his ear, had been her second hint of what was to come.

There had been plenty of coffee in the house. Good coffee; this was Castle after all. He'd left for other reasons, his footfalls quiet and covert, before the sun had even risen.

It was almost noon by the time he had returned but she'd done him no bodily harm; just smiled and accepted her cup of coffee as he'd placed a gentle kiss to her forehead.

They'd eaten brunch in bed, made love, napped and made love again. It was as though neither of them particularly wanted to break the spell and return to everyday life. Despite solving two cases and being anything but relaxed all week, the change of scenery had been exactly what they had needed to recharge.

By the time they had cleaned themselves up and left the house, it was late afternoon.

In the car, as they'd sped away from the Hamptons and back toward the city, his left leg had jiggled in time to the pulsating beat of the radio. In Kate's mind, it had been fairly concrete confirmation of a day's worth of inklings.

She kept catching him giving her furtive glances, the car weaving with each longing gaze. In the end, a palm to his thigh and a wink had calmed both his nerves and his erratic driving. She'd changed the station and they'd sung along to classic rock as the road stretched before them.

And so when they pulled up to the orchard, she'd known for sure.

June had been standing on the front porch of the farmhouse, hopping from foot to foot and making believe that she was dusting the patio furniture. Zeke, for his part, had welcomed them with gusto, clapping Rick on the back and practically shoving them both in the direction of the path that led to what Kate already thought of as 'their' tree.

* * *

"Did you do this?" she asks, stopping to finger a cord of fairy lights strung between two branches of a yellowing apple tree.

"Compliments of June," he says. "Remind me to sign a couple extra books for her."

The orchard is gorgeous in the late afternoon light. The sun hangs low, casting long, sharp shadows and amber-flecked highlights.

His hair shines, small wisps of blonde streaking through brown, perhaps a hint of gray at the temples. Not that she'd ever tell him that, the man has a tendency to be a little vain. He'd be running to the drug store and thrusting Just For Men into her hands before she knew what hit her.

She runs her hands through the strands, smoothing them down, before drawing him in for a quick, soft kiss on the lips.

"And why would June feel the need to light our path, Castle?" she whispers against his ear.

"Shh, it's a surprise."

"Castle," she breathes, lingering on the 'S' for just a fraction of a second longer than necessary.

He shudders as her words travel down his spine and she smiles, enjoying that she has the same effect on him as he does her.

"She's a romantic," he replies, his tone carrying a touch of panic, coming out as more of a question than an answer.

Kate chuckles and strokes a thumb across his earlobe. "Ah, now we're getting somewhere."

He gulps.

She's probably cruel to mess with him like this but she simply cannot resist.

"So, Rick, why would June feel the need to romantically light our path? Is there something she knows that you're not telling me?"

"Haven't I already told you to shush? You're gonna ruin my moment."

And score one point for Kate Beckett, she thinks with a grin.

She smiles, feeling like the cat that ate the canary. "And what moment would that be, Mr. Castle?"

"You're incorrigible," he says, ignoring her question completely and pulling her by the hand, tugging her quickly towards the clearing.

"I prefer persistent."

He rolls his eyes at her, and she laughs in his face before daring him to complete the Beckett combo with a raised brow. A stinging barb or jab to the shoulder is the obvious consequence of his choosing that path and she watches with delight as he bites on his lower lip and seems to think better of whatever he was going to say.

"Maddening," he eventually huffs.

"I try my best," she replies with a smirk.

He grins right back and she waits for his volley. Instead she watches with awe as his eyes transform from a dazzling and joking azure to a bottomless indigo filled with sincerity.

"Astounding," he whispers reverently.

Her stomach flips.

"That's more like it," she finally says, when she manages to suck in enough air to breathe again. Gently smiling and stroking her thumb along the seam when their palms are joined, she whispers, "Come on."

They round the final bend in the path and she stops short as their tree comes into view.

"Oh... my god. Rick, this is... gorgeous."

The scene is breathtaking; June and Zeke have obviously gone all out. Below the wide canopy of the old Sassafras tree is a table set for two. It's all white linen and sterling silver utensils; a cluster of merrily burning candles in the center.

Up here on top of the hill, the fairy lights June has chosen are a mix of blue and white, brilliant and shining, lending a romantic and lustrous vibe to the dusky twilight. A posy of pink and white roses with stems cut short decorates the table, nestled lovingly inside an antique looking bowl.

A smaller table cozies up alongside first, laden with everything they could possibly need for a romantic dinner for two. Steam rises from the vent of a rustic-looking earthenware pot, the scent wafting Kate's way and speaking to the tantalizing treats within. Onions and garlic, thyme and rosemary; a slow-cooked stew if she had to guess. A large bowl of fluffy white rice sits beside the pot, the plastic wrap glimmering with beads of perspiration. In a basket, wrapped in white cotton napkins are the unmistakable mounds and the mouth-watering aroma of fresh-baked bread rolls. Chilling in a bucket of ice is a bottle of champagne and next to that, two flutes, obviously hand-made, with a crackled effect that reflects the candlelight in a shimmery dance.

"Wow, they thought of everything," Castle intones, lifting a lid from a small plate and finding pats of butter. He runs his hand over a ladle and a matching silver serving spoon. "Everything," he repeats, sounding a little shell-shocked.

"That they did," she agrees, jaw dropping as she turns her head and notices a small clay stove, a merrily burning fire inside. She won't even need the jacket that Castle had thoughtfully grabbed and slung onto the crook of his elbow as they had left the car.

He turns to her, a serious look in his eyes, as he lays her jacket over the back of a chair. "So… umm, Kate? You know, I think you know why…"

He stops mid-sentence and casts his eyes upwards as though asking for a higher power to help him out. Or perhaps strike him dead. The way his jaw muscles are working and the way his teeth are worrying his lips, she's not entirely sure. "What I mean is…"

He huffs, obviously frustrated with himself. "Look, do you want to do this now or…"

She chuckles quietly, ducking her head for a moment before eyeing him through lowered lashes. He's adorable like this. Flustered and at a loss for words is not something that often goes together with the image of Richard Edgar Castle. No, the man who stands before her is entirely Rick Rogers; goofy, bumbling and just a little bit scared.

She's fairly certain that he envisioned himself presenting her with a ring after dinner, perhaps over dessert or slipped into the bottom of her drink; something suave, secret-agent smooth. She has no doubt that he's written a thousand scenarios in his mind and that none of them had him stumbling over his words and blushing bright red while he struggled to find a way.

After the grief she'd given him at the lighthouse, she feels like she owes him one. And so with a forced but steady gait and an erratic heart she takes the few steps into his space and clasps both his hands between her own.

"Whatever the question, Castle, the answer is _yes_."

His downcast eyes shoot to her own, the corner of his lips twitching and rising just slightly in the hope that he has heard her correctly.

"Yes?"

"Yeah," she replies, slightly amused at the breathy quality of her voice and the shaking of his hands. She gently squeezes.

"_Anything."_

Oh God, just hurry up and ask, she thinks. The longer he waits the more her palms sweat and the drier her mouth gets. The world around them begins to blur while time seems to stop.

"You're gonna have to loosen the death grip on my hands," he says, startling her as he regains his composure and shoots a glance toward his hands. Hands which she does in fact have a rather sturdy grip on.

Huh. Maybe she's a little more nervous than she had thought; as she releases him, she notices marks where her nails have dug into his flesh.

He reaches into his jacket and she holds her breath. As he slowly pulls a small, white box from his pocket and raises it to eye-level, she feels like he's simultaneously drawing her heart right out of her chest.

"So, Kate?"

"Yes?" she chokes out.

"Anything?"

"Yes," she repeats, regaining her voice.

"So if I asked you to dance right now?"

What on earth is he doing? He's asking her to dance right now? Guh! The man is going to kill her. But then again, she had said anything…

"Yes, Castle."

He uses the hand holding the box to pull her by the waist and into his embrace; the small square digs provocatively into her hip, taunting her. He twines his fingers through hers and slowly spins them around, swaying to a beat heard only in his mind. She sighs and rests her head on his shoulder, breathes in his scent and wills her racing heart to slow down.

"And if I asked to kiss you?" he rumbles into the shell of her ear.

She raises her head, smiles up at him. His eyes twinkle back in response.

"Yes."

He lowers his head and pulls her lower lip into his mouth, languidly but thoroughly devouring her and removing all traces of nerves from her psyche. They sway in time with the movement of the trees and soft gusts of wind.

"And if I asked you to stay when we get home; to move in with me?"

"Yes, Rick. Yes."

"Well then," he says, sinking to one knee and staring up at her with a look of pure devotion and utmost confidence.

"Marry me, Kate."

She sinks to her knees at his request and yanks him into her arms. He falls backwards and they collapse into a heap amongst the leaves. She covers him with kisses. His lips. Eyelids, forehead, chin.

Yes, her head screams. Finally. _Yes._

"Hey Kate?" he chuckles, the low tenor of his voice ticking her neck and somewhat muffled as she continues to ravish him.

She stops just long enough to look at him; notes the amused face but slightly solemn look in his eyes.

"You know you didn't actually answer that last one."

Huh. She thinks backwards. She didn't, did she?

She tugs him back up, so that he is seated and at eye-level with her before answering.

"Yes," she answers softly. "Always yes, Rick. Always yes."

He shudders out a breath and slips the ring onto her finger.

She almost chokes when she spies the gleaming diamond and the delicately inlaid emeralds.

It's perfect. The main stone is large but set low, the platinum surrounding the setting emphasizing countless colors and a remarkable depth. She'd thought he'd rushed out this morning to buy a ring, but it's obvious as she wiggles her finger and grins dopily at him that this is something that he has had made especially for her.

"Exactly how long has this been in the works?" she asks, gesturing to the ring, still grinning stupidly as he rises and hauls her up off the cold ground. She's giggling – _giggling- _as he brushes a leaf from her hair.

Oh, she's so very destroyed by this man. She'll never recover.

She doesn't care in the slightest.

"Oh, wouldn't you just love to know," he singsongs as he leads her to the table and holds out a chair.

"Yes. Yes I would," she says as her head gradually returns from the clouds and they ease back into their banter.

She has no idea what was once so terrifying about this. Absolutely nothing has changed.

They are already married; have been for years.

* * *

In the car on the way home, Castle hums along to a sappy love song and Kate's fingers draw small circles on his thigh. Half a dozen fresh-baked apple pies sit stacked on the console between them, precariously balanced but smelling like heaven.

She catches his eye at a red light as they enter Manhattan.

"I thought you were going for big this time?" she says.

He grins back at her, chuckles and waggles his eyebrows. He knows exactly what she's asking.

"You didn't like intimate?" he asks, all mock hurt and pained despair, pouting and sulky like a five year old boy.

She rolls her eyes. Naturally.

Surely she can't have missed the scene in the farmhouse as they had finally said their farewells to June and Zeke and left for the city.

Then again, she had been fairly out of it, simmering in a boil of almost giddy joy and bubbly effervescence. He cocks his head to the side, memorizing her face, not wanting to forget a moment of this perfect day.

He laughs then, as he remembers turning for one last look at the farmhouse only to catch through the windows, a red-faced Zeke chasing a giggling June as the old woman ran to the desk and flung open the lid of a laptop.

"Oh, Kate," he murmurs, reaching carefully over the pies to stroke her cheek. "Open your social apps and check your feeds. I didn't even have to _try_ for big."

A single brow rises in question.

"June will have taken care of that," he laughs.

Her eyes widen, understanding coming in one quick moment, before snapping shut as her head flops forward.

He holds his breath.

Her shoulders shake as laughter overcomes her and he breathes out a sigh of relief that the final part of his plan didn't backfire. They've been public for months, but he still wasn't entirely sure she'd be okay with this kind of exposure.

"I'll get you back for this," she finally retorts.

He's about to make a comeback, taunt her with his secret-keeping prowess, but a truck behind them angrily blares its horn and it's all he can do to keep from toppling over the stack of apple pie as he jumps and sends an elbow flying into the pile. Apparently the light turned green while he was moonily staring at his fiancée.

Never mind, he thinks, stepping on the gas and making the final turn for home. Kate's his fiancée and she's coming home.

Forever. _Always._

* * *

**Hole. E. Shight. It's finished! It's finally finished! **

**Big, huge, gigantic, overly enthusiastic, wet, tongue-kisses to all who poked, prodded, beta'd and in generally cheer led for this fic to be finished. I couldn't have done it without you all. **

**Avi: I love you like a love song, baby.**

**Nic: Are you ever gonna have that baby?**

**Deb: Your pimpage and last minute beta services are much appreciated. Muah!**

**And finally, I thought this beta note was worth mentioning. Kellie, you are both hilarious and kind.**

"I love that you didn't say "lathe", ie to cut, sand, knurl, drill or deform using an industrial tool ;) Though who am I to judge people's proclivities? :P"

******I never thought I'd write anything this big. Didn't even think I was capable of it. So again, thanks! **

**If you want to thank me, there's a neat little box below. Leave me a note! They are my crack and make all the head-banging against the desk worthwhile. Last chance!**


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